


Call of the Void

by kassandra_divina_trevelyan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Avvar, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Kidnapping, Avvar, Avvar Cullen Rutherford, Avvar Culture and Customs, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Confident Cullen, Cullen Rutherford Smut, Cullen Smut, Dom Cullen Rutherford, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fereldan Culture and Customs, Forced Marriage, Free Marcher Culture and Customs, Mage-Templar War (Dragon Age), Named Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Political Alliances, Slow Burn, Trials, War, implied sebastian romance, inquisition never happened, noblewoman x barbarian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 73,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23848921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kassandra_divina_trevelyan/pseuds/kassandra_divina_trevelyan
Summary: The last surviving daughter of the Trevelyan bloodline, Kassandra Divina Ariella Trevelyan must marry a suitor of noble status to keep her family in power. A tragic accident in the Frostback Basin and a chance encounter sees Kassandra taken as a bride for the Thane of Lion Claw Hold: Cullen Rutherford. The Avvar are brutish and primal, yet Kassandra admires their freedom. With her family’s demands weighing heavily on her shoulders and a betrothed willing to sacrifice others for her safe return, the last thing she should do is fall for the Thane with the wild amber eyes... but fall she might.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Original female character / Original female character
Comments: 130
Kudos: 158





	1. The Wayward Bride

Standing on the bow of The Holy Promise with the sea mist peppering her face and her hair unpredictably whipping around her face, Lady Kassandra Divina Ariella Trevelyan stared out at the vast sea stretched out before her. She leaned along the railing and cunning eyes, the color of the sky, searched for the shoreline of Jader. The quiet of the sea relaxed her and the lack of crew on the deck added to the introspective serenity she savored.

“Lady Trevelyan? What are you doing out here?” The voice of her maid, Lydia, came frantically from behind her and she stifled a sigh. She turned around and Lydia raced up to her, fretting over her tousled hair. “You should be getting prepared for our arrival at Jader!”

“I was simply basking in the calm of the morning,” Kassandra remarked, figuring that revealing that she actually was contemplating the chances of survival should she fling herself off the side of the bow would not be appreciated by her maid. Lydia furrowed her brow as she dragged Kassandra to the cabin by her arm. Kassandra easily could have protested, but there was no benefit for her to do so. Her agency was limited and Kassandra, smarter than anyone gave her credit for, meticulously saved what little power she still possessed.

Upon entering the captain’s quarters inside the ship, Kassandra squinted while her eyes adjusted from the plentiful light of the outside to the pitiful candles, barely illuminating the room in comparison. There, Lydia and two other maids that Kassandra never learned the names of as they hardly spoke when she asked them questions, waited with stern expressions, and a dress in their arms that Kassandra dreaded. It was her wedding dress. The garment was absolutely stunning, but it was the meaning behind the gown that tainted her heart with resentment.

“We must get you ready before we dock at Jader’s port.” Lydia clicked her tongue chidingly and Kassandra reluctantly approached. She kept still while the maids undressed her from her nightgown, styled her hair in an elegant twist, and applied some cosmetics to her face. Throughout the whole ordeal, Kassandra miserably endured the poking and prodding while uncomfortably realizing she would be paraded before her new husband like a king’s prized concubine. A mirror swayed along the wall to the rocking of The Holy Promise and in it, Kassandra dared a glimpse of herself. She was a vision in white lace and diamonds, a display of her family’s rapidly declining wealth. But the once brilliant shine of her eyes was withered and on the brink of death.

She watched as one of the maids placed a circlet crown in her hair with a veil attached in the back, framing her silhouette with a train of lace fabric. The dread burning in her stomach only grew more abundant, darkly bleeding into her ribcage. With each eyelet of the dress’ corset laced suffocatingly tight, the dread tampered with her thoughts and plunged Kassandra into a fog. Her eyes lingered on the stranger in the mirror, who stared back at her with pain. 

“You look divine,” Lydia murmured while she finished the fastenings of the dress and Kassandra remained silent, unsure of what to say. Through the door, Kassandra overheard the shouts of the ship’s crew from the deck and painfully realized that Jader must be in sights.

Her last, fleeting moments of freedom were running out.

* * *

When the Holy Promise finally docked at Jader’s lively port, Kassandra was escorted out by Lydia, and several men, who were allegedly hired jointly by her uncle Florence and her nameless betrothed to deliver her to the latter’s summer estate in southeastern Orlais safely. The betrothed of an influential and wealthy noble would be a prime target for highwaymen, bandits, or other seedy characters to ambush. Not to mention, tensions between Orlais and Fereldan were at an all-time high and danger was abundant along the main roads.

Waiting for Kassandra at the dock was a man, dressed in ornamental armor suited for show rather than battle. Upon seeing her, the man swiftly lumbered over to her and eagerly greeted her with a sloppy kiss to the back of her hand.

“Lady Trevelyan, you are ever radiant like the delicate and fair moons over the sands of the Hissing Wastes. Augustus Whitt, at your service.” He introduced himself flirtatiously and Kassandra maintained her emotionless mask perfectly.

“Charmed,” Kassandra replied, far from enthralled with her current company but smart enough to hold her tongue behind a pretty smile. Her smile put Augustus at ease and he launched into a long-winded spiel of excuses to explain away where her betrothed was upon his notable absence. Kassandra hardly paid attention to the incessant babble streaming from Augustus and only replied with the occasional agreement to placate those around her. With Lydia behind her and carrying her train from touching the dock, Kassandra followed after Augustus to where several mounts were waiting.

“You will be riding with me, my lady,” Augustus informed while gesturing toward a regal-looking horse. Kassandra nodded and approached the steed, watching how it gave a temperamental snort when Augustus reached for the reins. Horses were good judges of character; Kassandra knew this firsthand. Augustus snapped his fingers and an elven servant raced over with a small stool that Augustus used to vault himself into the back end of the saddle. Augustus shared a conspiring, improperly familiar grin with Kassandra that made her skin crawl. She nearly outright refused his hand but forced herself to get on the horse. From behind her, Augustus gripped the reins and guided the horse from the edge of the dock and into the town. As they passed through, Kassandra drew curious eyes and accusatory whispers. She kept her face and eyes straight ahead up toward the mountains in the near distance. Riding on a mount to their back right, Lydia observed that Augustus and his men were leading them down a road that was different than the route she studied during the expedition from the Free Marches.

“Ser Augustus, this road-” Lydia stammered, and Augustus cut her off with a raise of his hand, the silence an instinct for Lydia.

“Our normal route is plagued by skirmishes between those Fereldan dogs and the chevaliers, who bravely defend our empire’s territory. My master suggested for us to safely deliver his bride by taking an alternate through the Frostback Mountain Basin.” Augustus explained imperturbably while he led the party through the town and steadily approached the road, less traveled and rougher around the edges.

“I do not think-” Lydia protested, but she noticed Kassandra shake her head. Her eyes were still focused on the road ahead, burning with an air of fiery defiance in the soft blues.

“Lydia,” Her tone was clipped, commanding and Lydia’s protests ceased—not wanting to draw Kassandra’s ire. Without speaking a word, she leaned away from Augustus’ touch with a sharp and disgusted jerk of her shoulders. Shutting herself in with her thoughts and nothing else, Kassandra disconnected from the impending tragedy of her marriage and lost herself in nature’s siren song. Closing her eyes, she could hear the faint rustling of the wind through the trees and the cries of birds echoing from deeper within the basin. The trail the horses trotted along was narrow and precariously littered with rocks, making Kassandra uneasy about her safety. So, she turned her mind away from her emotions and tuned back into the stillness. Would a prayer to Andraste heal the wounds that did not show on her body, but her soul? Perhaps she, the Maker’s Bride, would take pity on a devout servant’s anguish.

 _“My holy Lady, bless me with your guidance and pardoning grace. Show me where I am meant to be, for I know that the Maker must have more for me than this.”_ Kassandra floated between the natural world around her and praying with the rhythmic trotting of hooves occasionally drawing her attention. She opted to ignore the chill of the morning that forced her skin to break out in bumps and sent a frigid cold trickling down her spine.

* * *

Hours arduously dragged by with Kassandra retaining pointed silence for prayer, despite Lydia and Augustus’ numerous attempts at conversation. Long gone was the mountain pass as the traveling party was deep into the heartland of the Frostback Basin. The sun might have been obscured behind the unnervingly dark cropping of clouds overhead, but the party was enveloped by sweat-inducing humidity that made some wish for the cold’s return.

Wiping her brow, Kassandra marveled at the sight of sweat and cursed the heavy material of her dress in the sweltering humidity. She could feel the stallion twitch beneath her with a snort. Augustus cheerily proclaimed, not long before, that they were nearly to the road that would lead straight to her betrothed’s estate, where they planned to meet for the first time and wed at once. Kassandra felt her heart sink in her stomach and scolded herself for kindling a spark of hope that would never come true. There was no escape from her marriage coming to liberate her; Kassandra was trapped.

“Oh, I am so excited! My Lady, can you imagine how beautiful the estate will be?” Lydia gushed to Kassandra, who said nothing in response. Lydia hardly seemed discouraged by Kassandra’s refusal to speak as she continued to chatter in enthrallment. Augustus leaned over in the saddle and gave Lydia his most charming smile.

“I have been there before. The garden is simply divine.” He promised, his words capturing Lydia’s starry eyes and rapt attention. Kassandra discreetly rolled her eyes at the behavior of this so-called professional sent to ensure her safety. In the distance, she overheard a menacing rumble of thunder and turned her eyes to the sky above to see the considerable darkness cloaking the land. She continued to watch the dark creep into the basin, and she swore that she could smell the incoming storm—the powerful crackle of lightning and the rain carried on the wings of the wind. Kassandra glanced ahead of the party at the path and the dense woods surrounding them. From what she knew, they were veering close to uncharted territory where rumors could not confirm what lay beyond the trees. She grew up hearing tales about the Korcari Wilds from Selina, her childhood caretaker and close family friend of the Trevelyans. It was said that strange magic lived there, but Kassandra no longer believed in fairytales meant to placate small children and shield them from the violent reality.

Not since she became well-acquainted with tragedy’s chilling embrace.

Kassandra bowed her head, unable to stomach her thoughts at the rapidly approaching exchange: her mind, body, soul, and voice…all for a fleeting chance at power in a constantly changing world. As she noticed before, the sky rumbled ominously, and the second warning caught the attention of her escort. The air grew thick and the delicate touch of rain carried an omen to Kassandra’s angry heart.

“There is nothing to worry about,” Augustus declared, sensing some anxiety ripple through the party. They continued to trot along the road with no signs of stopping as the rain trickled down at increasing intensity and frequency. What began as a feather-light, dewy mist transformed into a full-fledged torrent of rain.

“This weather is dangerous! Perhaps, we should-” Lydia squeaked out but her suggestion was interrupted by Augustus, who appeared irritated with an illiterate peasant maid challenging his authority. He sharply glared at her and in his distracted state, he loosened his grip on the reins.

“We will be fine. The rain will pass.” Augustus sneered back, but that hardly placated Lydia’s concerns. She shrunk into herself and Kassandra considered reminding Augustus of his rank compared to her.

“But-” Kassandra felt her head thud from all the talking and the rain pouring down on the party. Visibility of the road ahead dimmed and hearing Augustus’ entitled growl from behind her snapped the last thread of patience she had.

“Quiet!” Kassandra roared and as the words rolled off her tongue, lightning furiously streaked across the sky. Everything happened all at once. Spooked by the flash, the mount carrying Kassandra and Augustus reared onto its hind legs. Lightning lit up the darkness surrounding them and Kassandra gripped the stallion’s mane for dear life while Augustus tumbled backward from the saddle. The thunder and lightning were enough to frighten the horse into bolting into the darkness…with Kassandra clinging desperately. Lydia’s frantic cries were drowned out by the storm vengefully raining down upon them and her panicked heartbeat thundering with the ferocity of a war drum. Unable to calm the runaway stallion, Kassandra squeezed her eyes shut and steadied her control by taking the reins and empty stirrups for herself.

She could hardly tell in which direction she was racing; the torrent of rain soaking her to the bone and blinding her made all sense of bearing vanish. The wind lacerated her, slicing through her clothes and down to the bone. Kassandra did her best to steer blindly as the storm raged on. The horse showed no signs of slowing, despite Kassandra’s gentle hands and calming affirmations. The two approached wooded territory as Kassandra discovered when she narrowly dodged a jagged branch. Kassandra molded her body against the stallion and she barely made out the sight of a rocky riverbank before the stallion bounded over the river. Dragged through the woods by the spooked horse, Kassandra felt genuine fear bubble in her throat and silencing her urge to scream. The uneven terrain made for a bumpy ride and she realized they were barreling straight toward a steep downhill slope. Kassandra forcefully yanked at the reins but the mount did not stop in time. When the stallion came crashing down on the hill, Kassandra slipped from the saddle and hit the unforgiving ground. Her body tumbled down the mountain and when she came to a stop, she blearily lifted her head off the muddy earth to watch her mount race into the distance and vanish before she had the chance to recuperate. Kassandra had no idea about how to return to the road she was traveling, and it dawned on her that she was lost in the wilderness. She struggled to rise onto her feet with the rain still coming down on her and a sudden flare of numbing pain washed over her as the world turned pitch black

* * *

Slowly, Kassandra drifted aimlessly through unconsciousness, where dreams resided as a source of comfort. But that too had changed. She floated in and out of the darkness with no inkling as to how much time passed or if she would ever glimpse at the sun again. Her body felt numb and cold; there was nothing she could do to fix it.

Light trickled into her vision and her sight cleared, with the same ease as storm clouds once the downpour ended, to reveal bright, cloudless skies and the sun radiantly shining above her. Kassandra staggered onto her side after a few attempts and winced when she grazed the tender bruise blossomed across her ribcage, sustained during the nasty fall off the horse. All her memories came back to her and she groaned, wondering if her luck could get any worse. The skirt of her gown was muddied and torn as was her veil from the wild chase through the storm. She rocked onto her feet and surveyed her surroundings, hoping to find some way back to civilized society. She knew of some contacts who could provide her safe harbor and one who made clear he would gladly offer a marriage of convenience should she ever need one. Kassandra glanced over to her left and walked over to the edge of the trees. She carefully trekked through the basin’s woods with her silken slippers damaged from the chaos. She listened to the wilderness around her in awe, never experiencing such peace before.

“This is…beautiful,” Kassandra murmured aloud and she watched the sky through the tree canopy to determine how much daylight she had left before darkness blanketed the land once more. She recalled her older brother, Theodore, and his harried survival tips he scribbled into a letter delivered before he was deployed to Kirkwall to quell the city’s bloody rebellion. He warned her about allowing daylight to pass her by as night travel was dangerous and unadvised for those unfamiliar with adventuring.

Kassandra noticed the slight downward slope of her current path ahead and overheard the lapping of water. A quick glance over the edge of the road and Kassandra’s hopes rose when she spotted a lake and some cliffs over it. Her throat, parched and scratchy, lured her from her mission and beckoned her to the lake’s edge. She bounded toward the creek after braving the steep descent and collapsed on the knees of the shore. She leaned over and cupped water into her hands, bringing them to her lips and greedily drank the water. After she was sated, Kassandra observed her reflection on the water’s surface. She looked like she survived the Void with all the bruises and scratches on her skin and tears in her clothing. She reached out to her reflection when something whizzed by her hand and lodged itself in the lake’s shallow. Paralyzing fear spiked in Kassandra’s chest when she realized the object was none other than an arrow, which barely missed her. She tried to scramble to her feet but felt the tip of a sword brushing against the nape of her neck.

“Aye, don’t move ‘en inch,” An accented, female voice hissed from behind her and Kassandra stilled herself, holding her breath in until it began to hurt. She witnessed as two men, dressed in furs and wielding weapons, entered her peripheral vision. One trained his bow—nocked with an arrow—and his eyes narrowed cruelly at her while the other lowered his maul hesitantly to study Kassandra better.

“A lowlander, trespassing on our territory!” The archer snarled and drew his bowstring to his lips. Kassandra’s body involuntarily trembled against her better instinct to not show fear and she kept her eyes trained on the floor. She could not die here; this is not what the Maker planned for her.

“Aelred, she seems harmless and appears unarmed.” The other man, the one who lowered his maul, remarked and there was a distinct kindness to him Kassandra picked up on. She was unsure if he referred to the archer or the warrior submitting her from the sword to her back.

“She is.” The woman behind her gruffly confirmed, but that hardly dissuaded the archer into relaxing his aggressive stance.

“I say we get rid of her. We cannot trust lowlanders.” The archer suggested and trained his bow back onto Kassandra. In the silence that followed, Kassandra braced herself for the shot that never came.

“Aelred, stand down.” A new voice interjected commandingly, and Kassandra’s eyes flew open to stare at the lake’s unmoving waters.

“Thane Rutherford-” Aelred protested and Kassandra recognized Aelred to be the archer. He quickly silenced himself at the domineering crunch of footsteps.

“That is an order. Stand down,” Thane Rutherford harshly whispered, anger punctuating each word. Aelred sighed and dropped his bow down, pointing the arrowhead into the soil under his feet. Kassandra could feel someone approaching her and the sight of boots and muscular legs stopped before her. “You too, Farah.” Thane Rutherford instructed and the sword grazing the back of her neck retreated swiftly.

“What shall we do with ‘tis one?” Farah inquired, but she received no answer. Thane Rutherford was no fool; the lowlander on her knees before him had not glanced up once but the coil of her body signified that she was more dangerous than her attire made her seem. He lifted her chin up to get a better view of her face and Kassandra received her first glance at the enigmatic Thane Rutherford.

“What do we have here? A lowlander… noble blood from the way you are dressed. Did you get lost and find yourself some barbarians?” Thane Rutherford questioned behind a wolfish smirk and he barked with amused laughter at the fire in Kassandra’s eyes. The glare she gave him was as cold as the harshest blizzard, but he was acclimated to the winter. This woman, a lowlander of nobility, should be frail and delicate and yet, there was a wildness to her defiance that no civilized woman knew. Something was different about her.

“No,” Kassandra said, her gaze meeting his unflinchingly. His eyes glowed like volcanic aurum melting in the flaming heart of a blacksmith’s forge. She took in his relatively short hair and blue tattoos swirling across his body and the faint scar marking the corner of his lip. The command she retained shocked all, except for Thane Rutherford. Instead of taking offense, his smirk widened and drew more attention to his scar.

“Delrin, I want you to return to the hold. Take this woman with you. I will decide her fate upon my return.” Thane Rutherford proclaimed and the warrior who lowered his maul earlier, apparently named Delrin, nodded. He strapped his maul onto his back and walked over, taking Kassandra’s arms in one of his and prevented any illusion of escaping.

“Yes, Thane Rutherford…” Delrin agreed as he guided Kassandra off her knees and gave her a nudge toward the short road back to the hold. Kassandra glanced over her shoulder at her newfound captors and her eyes met Thane Rutherford’s once more.

Without a fight or a fuss, Kassandra held her chin up high and her shoulders proudly back as she was taken prisoner.


	2. The Thane and The Noblewoman

Silence freely flowed between Delrin and Kassandra as the formerly forcefully escorted her to the “Hold.” Delrin kept a firm grip on Kassandra but respected her vow to silence; she appreciated that.

“You need not speak to me, but I can sense you might have questions.” Delrin offered, interjecting the pointed silence that was marked with the occasional crunch of twigs beneath his boot, and he did not anticipate a response from Kassandra nor a reaction. But as she demonstrated earlier with her bold defiance of submission to Thane Rutherford, Kassandra was full of surprises.

“You called yourselves ‘barbarians’ and me a ‘lowlander.’ That begs the question: who are you people, and what do you want with me?” Kassandra questioned, and Delrin, not knowing what else to do, chuckled slightly. Who they were was a simple answer. What they wanted with her, that he did not know. Thane Rutherford had something in mind, but he could not answer what that might be.

“We are the Avvar, people of the mountains and warriors of Lion Claw Hold.” Delrin declared, and Kassandra nearly choked at the name. Flashes of childhood memories entered her mind of Selina sharing stories of Theodosian legends when tucking Kassandra into bed. As a little girl, she was fascinated with myths, and the Avvar were among the stories Selina told her—but Kassandra never thought the Avvar were real.

“The Avvar are real?” Kassandra’s shock then, in turn, made Delrin gawk at his prisoner. He wondered if she spoke in jest, but her eyes glimmered with honest confusion. The details about these strangers aligned with what little she remembered of the stories, from the furs to the location to the painted markings on their body.

“Of course, we are real. Why would we be anything but?” Delrin questioned and Kassandra would have thrown her hands up in defensiveness, but they were bound behind her back. Her guard had significantly relaxed since the confrontation; no longer did her heart race in paralyzing fear.

“I was told legends about a race of barbarians who lived in the mountains of Fereldan when I was a young girl. I believed them to be just that: legends.” Kassandra elaborated, and Delrin shook his head in disbelief.

“You must not be Fereldan then.” Delrin mumbled lowly, but Kassandra overheard him perfectly. She glanced over her shoulder at him once more with a wry quirk of her lips.

“I am a daughter of Ostwick, a city-state across the Waking Sea.” Her voice sounded far away, and Kassandra felt the bitter prickle of homesickness sting her bruised and battered pride. She was lost in a strange land and held hostage by a group of proclaimed barbarians, but not the one she was expecting. That made sense for Delrin, upon listening to her accent intentionally for the first time. It was not Orlesian but certainly not Fereldan.

“I see.” Delrin somberly acknowledged, and the silence eerily crept back into the air surrounding them. Neither knew what to say to bridge the disconnect between two strangers from lives so different from the other. Kassandra sighed, her thoughts drifting back to home. Her mother used to say that home was where one’s heart belonged, but Kassandra considered the burial place of her heart to be Trevelyan Estate, back in Ostwick. She realized that the news of her disappearance and failing to meet her husband-to-be would eventually reach Ostwick’s shores—and her family’s ears. Depending on what information returned to her homeland’s borders, she would either be pronounced dead by the storm’s unforgiving hands or an ungrateful brat who shirked her duty by running off. Her legacy would either be one of a heartbreaking tragedy or a source of scorn instead of the truth, buried deep in the Frostback Basin.

Maybe the latter might result in a search for her, but Kassandra was unsure if she even wanted to be found by her family.

“May I ask another question? It is about your leader, Thane Rutherford?” Kassandra inquired, attempting to curb the evident curiosity in her voice. She should despise him for speaking down to her or underestimating her capabilities because of what she looked like, but he spared her life. That was, for the moment.

“I suppose,” Delrin shrugged, and Kassandra’s heart pounding when struggling to phrase the burning question on her mind. How badly did she want the truth that she would risk hearing what she feared might happen to her come Thane Rutherford’s return?

“Do you think he plans to kill me?” She whispered darkly, averting her eyes forward, and not to the man behind her. Delrin’s silence telegraphed his astonishment deafeningly loud to Kassandra, to which she pondered if his speechlessness was an intended answer. With the turn of events since that morning’s arrival in Jader’s port, Kassandra no longer believed she understood what the Maker planned for her. Her faith was shaken, possibly beyond a point of repair.

“I do not know,” Delrin replied, which made Kassandra’s heart drop into the growing pit of dread pooling in her stomach. If there was any prayer left in her, Kassandra would drop to her knees and beg for the earth beneath her to swallow her whole. Delrin guided Kassandra around a bend in the dirt road, revealing a wooden arch pressed between two sides of rocky cliffs and covered in vines of crystal grace. Kassandra admired the village stretched out before her with more people dressed in furs and cozy-looking but straightforward buildings. Carved into the layers along a hillside, the village stood among one of the most architecturally ingenious places Kassandra had ever seen, competing with Val Royeaux. Delrin escorted Kassandra across the entrance of the hold with a chuckle at her awestruck expression, “Welcome to Lion Claw Hold.”

“By Andraste,” Kassandra breathed out, and the revelation that the Avvar were real started to set in. If they were real, there was no telling what other of Selina’s stories might be true. She walked with hesitation in her pace as she and Delrin scaled down the slope.

“Delrin, you are back, surprisingly early!” A voice cheerfully shouted when they walked past, but soon the whispers sprung up when those of the hold noticed Delrin escorting a strange woman without the Thane or the other members of the hunting party. Kassandra nearly cringed; she always hated the whispers.

Delrin, for his part, managed to dodge questions or the stares from his fellow tribesmen without making it too visible that was his intent. Still, Kassandra could tell from years of playing the Game with stakes, which seem so minuscule now that her life depended on the mercy of a barbarian.

“Where are you taking me?” Kassandra questioned, occasionally glancing up at the surroundings they passed by. The more she observed of Lion Claw Hold and its inhabitants, the larger her curiosity grew. Her interest in the Avvar and what their culture was truly like burned bright like the flame of a torch.

“To get your wounds examined,” Delrin declared and Kassandra wordlessly in appreciation. She would count her blessings that her captors showed some mercy, unlike her initial expectations of them would have suggested. Her body ached with the muted pains from the fall, and the breeze picking up through the mountain’s basin caused a shiver to overtake her whole body. Kassandra wanted to nurse her hip, where she could feel the formation of a nasty bruise, but her hands were bound behind her back. Delrin approached a small hut with an open doorway, and the smell of incense seeped out from the openings for windows, awakening Kassandra’s senses. She assumed this was the infirmary where a healer might treat her wounds to some extent. Ducking inside with Delrin’s guiding hand, Kassandra spotted a slim, elven woman with her back facing them. Over her head, she held a vial of a blue liquid and swirled it around lightly, noting the shimmering particles in the dim light of the hut’s open room. “Persephone,” Delrin greeted, and the woman turned around, her eyes glowing when she noticed Kassandra’s disheveled appearance and traumatized expression.

“Oh! You’re injured! Please take a seat!” Persephone exclaimed as she quickly ushered Kassandra to one of the open, makeshift cots. Kassandra settled along the edge of the bed with her legs trembling from exertion while Persephone ran to a wooden chest and sorted through her supplies. “Thank you, Delrin. You may go now,” Persephone notified as she scampered back to the cot with the necessary tools to deal with Kassandra’s relatively minor injuries. Delrin opened his mouth to protest that idea as Thane Rutherford likely wanted a watchful eye on their prisoner, but Persephone’s pleading look stopped him before the words came out. Sighing, Delrin stepped out the door and headed back into the hold. Now alone, Persephone smiled kindly and openly at Kassandra as she held up a small vial of bright, shimmery liquid up to the light. She knew what might be needed to help this lowlander in her care.

“What is that?” Kassandra asked, pointing to the vial. Persephone understood her hesitation; she was not unlike the frightened woman sitting before her once. That was her past, but her sympathy remained.

“This is somnum, a potent sedative made from the ground-up roots of blood lotus. I suspect that you need some rest after the whole trial that brought you to us.” Persephone handed Kassandra the vial and smiled encouragingly at her, showing Kassandra she would not force her around and meant no harm. The gesture spoke volumes to Kassandra, who found herself overwhelmed with gratitude. She popped open the cork of the sedative and boldly downed the liquid, tangy and sharp against her tongue. Persephone assisted Kassandra to lie down on the cot and began to examine her wounds. The world around Kassandra blurred and went out of focus until black blanketed everything.

**\-----------------------**

When the world returned, Kassandra realized that she felt well-rested; a feeling she had forgotten with the chaotic upheaval of her life for the past few months. Peace was no longer sustained in the blissful escape of sleep when the faces of the dead chained her to a nightmare realm. She lifted her head blearily and noticed Persephone still by her bedside.

“Ah, you are awake! How do you feel?” Persephone smile made Kassandra less inclined toward a defensive answer. So far, Delrin and Persephone had been quite kind to her for being her captors. Their actions made up for the initial hostility she received when she encountered the hunting party in the woods.

“I feel better,” Kassandra admitted, and she managed to sit up along the wall pressing into her back. Persephone handed her another vial, and Kassandra drank the liquid without prompting. A warm feeling spread through her stomach, and upon dispersing into her body, Kassandra sensed that any remaining pain disappeared.

“Good. That potion should deal with the aches and pains. I applied some healing salves to your minor cuts and scraped skin to heal them over. Your shoulder happened to be the largest injury sustained, which I readjusted back into place. In the meanwhile, I managed to clean the dirt from the wound areas but not much else yet.” Persephone explained as she stood up to grab a small pouch of water and a wooden slab with food. She sat at the edge of the cot, by Kassandra’s feet, and handed her the water first. Kassandra greedily drank the water to alleviate her dry throat, and she could praise the Maker for the small comforts.

“Why are you so kind to me? I am a prisoner of your leader.” Kassandra questioned once she satiated her thirst, which she hardly realized until the water touched her lips. Persephone silently handed Kassandra the food, which was comprised of a small roll of bread and a piece of unidentifiable meat. Persephone brushed her loose hair back and acted as if she didn’t hear Kassandra’s question.

“Tell me how you came to be here.” Persephone inquired, and she patiently awaited Kassandra’s response, not demanding an answer. She studied the less dirty, patched-up lowlander in her care with a soft, sympathetic gaze as Kassandra sighed, the turn of events finally sinking in.

“I was set to be married to a man I’ve never met before,” Kassandra swallowed, and frustration flared up within her, bringing scalding tears to her eyes. Kassandra hated crying, much less in front of strangers. She forced the stinging pain down and composed herself from boiling over from anger and injustice. “The storm ended up separating me from my party during our traveling through the Frostback Basin. I know not if they survived or if some terrible fate befell them during the storm.” Kassandra prodded the bread weakly, not hungry enough to sample the food.

“Oh, Lady of the Skies, that sounds awful.” Persephone gasped and settled her hand over her heart. Kassandra’s eyes softened, and she and she stared down at the food Persephone brought to her.

“I suppose so. I hoped that I might understand for what purpose the Maker brought me here, but the silence kills me faster than the slicing of a blade through my heart,” Kassandra whispered as she picked up the roll of bread. To Persephone, she considered Kassandra’s tentative acceptance of the food as a small victory toward trust.

“I believe that the Lady of the Skies guides fate with her infinite wisdom. All things will be clear in time.” Persephone promised, and Kassandra, not planning to offend the most sympathetic of her captors, bit down on her tongue. Kassandra finished the scraps of food when she realized how hungry she was. She allowed Persephone to check over her wounds without protest, too preoccupied with her thoughts. She knew that her time before Thane Rutherford was fast-approaching and the likelihood that she could die for her unintentional trespassing was far higher than she was comfortable with. Was she ready to meet the Maker should Thane Rutherford’s mercy decide to run dry? Kassandra was not confident she was.

A knock came at the doorway, along the open arch that served as the entrance, and Kassandra spotted Farah standing under the archway with a small scowl. Seeing Farah was hardly a good sign in Kassandra’s mind.

“I hope you’re here with good news?” Persephone asked, and she flashed her big, soft eyes at Farah. Farah fidgeted under Persephone’s sweet, innocent gaze and Farah gave a disgruntled sigh when gesturing toward Kassandra.

“Now, I will transfer th’ prisoner, Thane’s orders,” Farah informed, and she glanced at Kassandra, looking significantly better than when the hunting party discovered her ambling through the woods. As soon as they returned to Lion Claw Hold, a conflicted Thane Rutherford chose Farah to collect Kassandra and bring her to him at once. Farah, slightly disgruntled about being placed on guard duty instead of preparing the kill for the feast, scoured the village for Barris. When she found him without the prisoner, she redirected herself to the infirmary upon his explanation that he left Kassandra in the care of Persephone. Farah crooked her fingers in the come-hither gesture and instructed, “Come now, lass… without a fight, aye?”

Kassandra gritted her jaw and narrowed her eyes at the patronizing comment, but she gracefully rose from the cot with Persephone’s guiding hand.

“May the Lady of the Skies protect you,” Persephone whispered for only Kassandra to hear, and Kassandra adopted some peace with the blessing. Her god could no longer save her, perhaps theirs might take pity? When standing before Farah, she instinctually tucked her hands behind her back to an eyebrow raise from Farah.

“You want to take me to Thane Rutherford? Very well, do as you must.” Kassandra declared evenly, and Farah keenly noticed the proud fire in Kassandra’s eyes, a startling blue that had yet to be extinguished or dampened by her capture. It was the same one Thane Rutherford spoke of when Farah and Aelred questioned him about his refusal to make a clear example out of her. He murmured incessantly about her fire as if Farah and Aelred would understand what he meant. Farah clasped Kassandra’s hands behind her back by her slender wrists.

“See ‘ye around, Perse,” Farah nodded her head to Persephone’s cheery wave before herding Kassandra out the door. Kassandra winced and squinted while adjusting to the abundance of light. A snarl escaped her throat like that of a feral wolf on the prowl at the wood’s edge. If Farah noticed, she refrained from commenting. By that point, rumor had gotten around the hold about the lowlander that Thane Rutherford spared, and the Avvar craned their necks to get a glimpse of Kassandra as she passed them. Various accounts of the encounter were given to the villagers by the members of the hunting party, except for Thane Rutherford, and the overall curiosity drew them to stare.

She was unlike anyone they had encountered from the lowlands before; she walked with the grace of a halla but radiated the power of a lion that they championed. She was a dichotomy to them: graceful yet fearsome, delicate, and dainty yet promising something far from civilized from each measured movement she took.

Kassandra stared blankly ahead and shaped her face into a fierce scowl, preparing herself for what judgment she might face in death or, perhaps, something worse entirely. She always heard there were fates worse than death. Either way, she would refuse to show weakness or fear; that was not and never would be the Trevelyan way. She hiked up the rocky slope of the hill to the far side of the hold where a waterfall trickled from the cliff’s edge into the deep abyss below. Before the protection of the waterfall from the observing eye and beside the riverbed, a doorway hid along a narrow strip of the cliff. Farah shoved her in that direction, and Kass assumed that is where she might find Thane Rutherford.

Stepping inside the cave, Kassandra entered a makeshift throne room, or what she assumed was the seat of power for Lion Claw Hold. The interior of the cave was carved to make a spacious, hollow room with torches filtering light into the darkness. Even the most minor sounds reverberated off the walls of the throne room, such as the shuffling of feet or the creaks of the throne in which Thane Rutherford lounged. Made of carved wood and a skinned bear’s hide casually draped over it, the throne mirrored the rustic and wild values the Avvar held dear; one could tell much about a leader by the throne in which they sat. Thane Rutherford’s amber eyes settled on Kassandra and studied her in undisguised fascination.

“Thank you, Farah. I can handle our guest if you fetch Cybele and Persephone for me.” Thane Rutherford declared, and Farah nodded, releasing Kassandra’s hands from their bound state. She quickly exited the throne room, leaving Kassandra alone with Thane Rutherford.

“A guest? That’s what I am? I thought I was a prisoner.” Kassandra aloofly remarked, and that elicited a chuckle from Thane Rutherford. He sat up and steepled his fingers together, clearly amused by Kassandra’s sharp wit and even sharper tongue. Enraged by her lack of answers, Kassandra snarled, “Is this where I am supposed to beg for my life because I would hate to disappoint.”

“Is it?” Thane Rutherford hardly withered under her glared daggers, but he could respect her unwavering bravado in the face of possible death. To the Avvar, fearlessness marked a warrior from those who would cower. His lips form a neutral line twitched at the corners, and he mused, “You are quite spirited little lowlander.” His eyes lazily traced up and down her body as the teasing remark left his lips. Kassandra’s shoulders tensed, and hatred swirled around in the pit of her stomach at the avoidance of her question.

“What do you plan to do with me?” Kassandra questioned Thane Rutherford point-blank, but he gave her no response. He merely continued to study her, and Kasandra felt her patience finally snap as her frustration boiled over. “If you plan to kill me, then I ask you to get on with it-!” Kassandra was cut off when Thane Rutherford slammed his fist down on the arm of his throne, and she involuntarily flinched. Thane Rutherford slowly rose from his throne with a resting scowl, and his eyes darkened angrily in the glow of the torches. Kassandra figured that she tested his patience farther than he would allow of someone he considered below him.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have by now. Besides, killing you would be a waste,” Thane Rutherford stated on the end of a guttural growl, and he slowly walked up to Kassandra, who refused to shrink back or shuffle away in submission—against her better judgment. Her heart pounded when she realized how imposing Thane Rutherford indeed was. His fingers grasped underneath her chin and forced her eyes up to meet his as he towered over her. “What is your name, lowlander?”

“Lady Kassandra Divina Ariella Trevelyan, daughter of Bann Hugo Trevelyan the Third and the Jewel of Ostwick,” Kassandra brazenly included her full title and lineage as she snapped out each word, her anger blinding her from rational fear and granting her a shield of courage.

“Kassandra… Kassandra…” Thane Rutherford quietly spoke her name, the new sensation of her name intriguing his tongue. Thane Rutherford released her chin, and he marched back to his throne. He reclined back and leaned against the arm of the throne while resting his chin along his closed fist. Kassandra could still feel the calloused pads of his fingers along her jaw, even though he removed his hand. The phantom warmth and reminder bruised her pride with the barbs of forced compliance dangerously sinking in. Her heart was abuzz with nauseating energy, and she wondered what the Avvar could possibly want with her if they were not going to kill her. Could she be a bargaining chip for trade? Perhaps they sought ransom money or leverage against nobility? Thane Rutherford, as if sensing her internal monologue, cleared his throat and continued, “I believe that you crossing into our territory is an omen from our gods. Sealg communicated to me through our hold’s augur with a clear message. Korth the Mountain Father and The Lady of the Skies have marked you to enter my hold and bear the fruits of our success. You are not my prisoner for you are to be my Chosen, my wife.”

“Your wife?” Kassandra choked out, her heart lurching to a standstill; she couldn’t have heard him correctly. Her eyes, scanning Thane Rutherford’s eyes for verification of his words’ truth, displayed panic. She went from the unwilling bride of some foreign noble across the sea to the forced bride of her barbarian captor, leaving her with a bitter taste burning at her tongue. Could she really outrun fate if the Maker forced her hand in such a manner? She swallowed back nausea threatening to leap up from her throat, “Thane Rutherford-”

“If you are to be my Chosen, I am only Thane Rutherford in public. You may call me Cullen.” He decided, his commanding voice rumbling out the name, which sounded so ordinary compared to his title. Kassandra tried to repeat the name but turned red in the face and stammered instead of words coming out. Kassandra wished she were numb, so she could tune out the insurmountable spell of emotions threatening to drown her from the inside out.

“Thane Rutherford? You requested our presence?” Persephone and another woman, sporting fiery red curls and what appeared to be religious regalia instead of the simple furs that every other Avvar wore, entered the throne room and knelt before Cullen. His eyes locked with Kass’ above their heads, and he appeared to be fighting back amusement once more.

“Yes, I did. Persephone and Cybele, see to it that Kassandra is adequately prepared by the feast this evening. I fully expect her to be treated with the utmost respect as she is my Chosen.” Cullen instructed, and Persephone and Cybele whirled around. Cybele’s eyes lightened in swift recognition when she saw Kassandra, which was not reciprocated.

“She is the one I spoke of. Korth, the Mountain Father, is generous!” Cybele proclaimed, and Cullen’s eyes flashed with a victory. A confirmation from Cybele, who was blessed by powers far beyond the earth beneath their feet, solidified Cullen’s belief in his decision. Many of the hold might protest or question his decision, but a blessing from Korth or the Lady of the Skies would protect Kassandra from mass scrutiny.

“My Chosen holds the same authority I do. She will one day be my bonded wife. I wish to present her before the hold tonight during the Festival of Korth at the feast.” Cullen declared and Kassandra, not protesting his claiming of her but not shying away from the anger she wore like battle armor. How intriguing, he noticed…

“Come now, my lady, we must prepare you for this evening.” Persephone urged, and she could see Kassandra’s desire to fight back in the tenseness of her body. But, defying expectations once more, Kassandra spun on her heel and turned her back to Cullen. He shifted on his throne to a rigid stance, and nodded to Cybele and Persephone, effectively dismissing them from his presence. They bowed in a customary interaction, and they waited for Kassandra to request permission to leave.

Kassandra, knowing that she might be expected to show gratitude or submissiveness toward her new betrothed, felt a spark of defiance consume her. She sent a scathingly disinterested glance over her shoulder at Cullen and his crude throne as she shrugged off Cybele and Persephone’s guiding hands along her shoulder. She left the throne room without Cullen’s permission. Instead of stewing in a fury at her brazen refusal of his authority, Cullen watched Cybele and Persephone chase after her with undeniable interest.

She held the heart of a dragon in her bosom and possessed the snarl of a wild wolf. She wore the visage of something delicate and breakable, but she was far from it. She was no ordinary noblewoman by any stretch of the imagination, and Cullen wanted to find out what exactly shackled her spirit from freeing itself to where it belonged.


	3. Winter's First Light

The moment Kassandra left Cullen’s presence, Cybele and Persephone enlisted the help of some village women to carry pails of scalding water to Persephone’s hut. When the explanation of by order of Thane Rutherford, volunteers were not in short supply. Any of the hold’s members would hardly refuse the requests of Thane Rutherford. Persephone directed the efforts to get Kassandra prepared, whether that was getting her clean linens to wear or making a bath, while Cybele escorted Kassandra furtively through the hold.

While the women unwittingly prepared a bath for the newest member of Lion Claw Hold, Cybele assessed Kassandra underneath her curious gaze. Kassandra always kept a visual on Cybele with her eyes following the augur, unnerved by the way Cybele circled her in a calculated manner. She was the hungry bear slinking through the grass toward the unsuspecting, innocent nug—ready for the kill. Cybele lifted Kassandra’s chin and ignored the flash of discomfort on Kassandra’s face as her nails dug into Kassandra’s skin.

“Perfect skin, strong features, and the ideal frame for a warrior. Might I say that you have the qualities of an ideal bride among Avvar standards, Kassandra.” Cybele mused with what Kassandra could only describe as a macabre sense of whimsy. Kassandra didn’t know whether to be flattered or disgruntled by the examination like she was a prize horse being appraised for sale. Cybele snapped her fingers, “Now, you must undress for your bath.”

“A little privacy would be appreciated,” Kassandra sarcastically mused and Cybele turned around, her back facing Kassandra to bestow her some privacy as she indirectly requested. Figuring that was as good as she would get, Kassandra sighed and reached behind her back to unlace the corset of her ruined wedding dress. She contorted her back in an uncomfortable angle to curl a finger or two around one of the ends of the ribbon free from as high of an eyelet as possible. After several failed attempts, Kassandra managed to loop her finger around one section of ribbon and with an insistent flick of her wrist, she pulled it free of an eyelet. Blindly following along the silk ribbon through touch alone, Kassandra nimbly unlaced one half of the corset and the other half came easier—once she located the other ribbon.

With the corset undone, Kassandra flung the ruined dress from her body and marveled at the hidden spots of dirt coating her skin. She covered her exposed breasts with her arms and stepped free from the gown, puddled out across the floor.

“Okay, I am done,” Kassandra remarked and Cybele turned back around, nodding for Kassandra to follow her. Slinking through Persephone’s hut, Kassandra picked up on the scent of warm oils and incense when she stumbled upon the wooden basin large enough to fit two people, filled to the brim with steaming water. Persephone smiled to Kassandra and she, removing her smallclothes, sunk into the scalding water of the bath and a pleased sigh escaped her lips. The warm water lapping against her skin greatly pleased her and soothed the aches in her muscles from prolonged stress.

“Here,” Persephone procured a small, coarsely cut cloth from nearby and Kassandra accepted it with a gentle hand. She dipped the cloth into the scented waters and scrubbed at her face to clear the lingering dirt and grime from her skin.

“Thank you,” Kassandra remarked while she diligently scrubbed off the dirt from her body she could feel the oils softening her skin and covering her body in an enticing perfume. Frankly, the simple act of taking a bath reminded her of her home before it turned into a barren wasteland populated by two-faced vipers that would sooner sell her off for gold than fight for her. She shunned the thought with some half-hearted disappointment. This was to be her home now, for the foreseeable future.

“Is there anything else that you should require, my lady?” Cybele asked and Kassandra ran her fingers through her matted hair, wincing when she hit a knot.

“Some oil and water to wash my hair clean?” Kassandra glanced over her shoulder and Persephone grabbed a stray bucket with water, tipping half of the water over Kassandra’s head to clean her free of dried mud and twigs caught in her hair. Cybele handed her a small vial filled with colored oil and she poured a generous helping into her open hand. A quick rub of her hands together and Kassandra ran her lathered her hands through her hair. She forcefully worked through knots with her insistent fingers as her only tool. Persephone and Cybele watched as she managed to untangle her hair before dumping the rest of the water over her head. She pushed back the damp hair from her eyes and sighed.

“Once you are satisfied with your bath, we are prepared to dress you,” Persephone explained when Cybele disappeared and returned shortly afterward with a pile of white fabric in her arms. When she held it up for proper viewing, Kassandra’s face twisted up into a scowl.

“This is stupid,” Kassandra muttered as she eyed the low neckline of the chosen gown if she could even describe it as such, from her position in the wooden bathtub. That was no gown; instead, it looked like someone hastily sewed together pieces of see-through and loose fabric to make a robe with how much skin would be exposed. Kassandra grew up in a noble household where the modest dressing was encouraged by her parents and she witnessed the behaviors of girls in the Trevelyan line who dressed with that much skin exposed. The thought of wearing such a gown she and her moral sensibilities would disapprove of made her skin crawl uncomfortably.

“It is for ceremonial purposes,” Cybele declared and Kassandra wanted to smack her head against the edge of the basin. Her tongue threatened to besmirch tradition with a scathing response, but her life laid in the mercy of the Avvar and who knew to what extent her newfound status protected her as Cullen’s chosen. Kassandra rose from the murky waters of the basin, covered her breasts once they emerged from the protection of the water, and shivered at the feeling of water droplets rolling down her exposed body and the fresh air.

“I am ready.”

_______________

The evening fast approached and while the sounds of celebration filled the village by the Avvar men, women, and even children, Kassandra was secretly escorted back to the throne room where Cullen would assess her before making her debut before the tribe as a Chosen. She wore a cloak to conceal her face as Persephone and Cybele pulled her along. The hold was prepared to hear news of a Chosen by Thane Rutherford that night, but none were prepared for the unveiling of the Chosen’s identity. Although not unheard of, marrying a non-Avvar is controversial at best and sacrilegious at worst to traditionalists. Kassandra might not be what the hold expected and, to some, not what they wanted.

They trekked up the hill and entered the throne room, where Cullen was seated wearing his furs and a ceremonial cloak. His eyes flashed when Persephone and Cybele bowed to him before pulling the cover from Kassandra’s body so he might examine her.

“Excellent,” That was all he said when Kassandra gave him a little glare. The gown fit her figure as intended and matched with the ceremonial gauntlets. Her hair was wild and fresh flowers were tucked into her hair.

“Am I to your satisfaction?” Kassandra coldly remarked and she unflinchingly stared down Cullen from across the room. Cullen’s lips twitched toward a smirk at her defiant reaction and that, not her beauty, was what intrigued him the most. Her tongue was sharper than a newly crafted blade and swifter than death by an arrow through the heart, her deadliest asset and her greatest weakness at the same time—when paired with her anger.

“You are,” He confirmed and walked over to her, dismissing Persephone and Cybele with a nod of his head. Persephone and Cybele made themselves scarce, leaving Cullen and Kassandra alone. “Are you prepared for your introduction?”

“I suppose,” Kassandra indifferently remarked and she, out of habit, tucked her arm around Cullen’s bicep and looked to him. She hardly was the docile type who looked to others for leadership or guidance, but her whole world had been flipped on its head throughout that day. She and Cullen exited the throne room together. They walked across the upper level of the hold, heading inside an opening carved into the mountain and entered an open space within the mountain where a fire roared and the Avvar gathered around a bountiful harvest feast.

“All stand for Thane Rutherford!” Delrin bellowed and the villagers stopped their conversations to face their Thane… and the prisoner, who was on his arm. Their judgment could be felt by Kassandra, who refused to plaster on a painted smile or any illusion that she was pleased to be there. Besides, it seemed as her anger or disinterest endeared her toward the Avvar greater than the nobles who thrived in the gilded cage of backstabbing and lies known as the Orlesian court.

“Please prepare for the invocation to Hakkon, led by the augur!” Cullen instructed as he approached the head of the elongated banquet table where he would sit. Cullen expected that Kassandra might perch along the arm of his chair, but she was more than welcome to settle herself in his lap. Such forwardness was not frowned upon by his people as it was expected for a chosen mate to be affectionate.

“All remain standing!” Cybele commanded as she ran to the fire with the entrails of that night’s main course, a wild druffalo, bloodied and raw in her hands. She murmured in what sounded like tongues before she cast the entrails into the flames, creating shadows dancing along the cave’s walls. “To Hakkon, to whom we rely on for protection and strength. May Hakkon’s blessings cover Lion Claw Hold in his glory!”

“To Hakkon!” The Avvar chanted in unison and turned to face Thane Rutherford with questions barely held at bay and distrust of Kassandra in their eyes. The outsider seated in a place of ascribed honor had not escaped their notice.

“You may be seated,” Cullen declared and he waited for his people to sit. Kassandra, as Cullen expected, reclined along the edge of his chair and stoically looked on. He cleared his throat and lingered in the silence with the eyes of his people watching on. “As you know, the time has come for me to select someone to be my Chosen for the sake of the hold. I have decided on who that will be through guidance from Cybele and a message from the gods above. They have brought me my Chosen by chance and she came on the heels of a telling omen. I shall marry the lowlander.” Cullen declared to the stunned silence of his people. He held out his hand and Kassandra understanding that to be her cue to place their hands together and stand by his side. Whispers rippled across the table and members of Lion Claw Hold observed the lowlander meant to be one of them.

Many were surprised she lived through the day; it must have been by the grace of the Lady of the Skies that her time was not up yet.

“This is a farce!” Aelred slammed his hands against the table as he rose out of his chair and disruptively drew all eyes onto him. “You cannot expect us to condone this!” He growled out and his dissenting objection to the union elicited some audible gasps. Some in the crowd were aligned with his personal beliefs but would never be so bold to challenge the Thane’s decision in such a public forum.

“Aelred, sit down.” Delrin warned him with a knowing glare that such verbalized disagreement would not sit well with Thane Rutherford, who appeared oddly calm in the face of the disruption. But Delrin knew better and that ‘calm’ was barely holding back the kind of anger that made people beg for the mercy of death.

“No, how can any of you sit idly by and watch as our Thane, who is supposed to protect our way of life, sully the Avvar blood by mating with this lowlander? For all we know, she could be a common wench that would accept any man’s coin for her body and not a warrior worthy of the Avvar life.” Aelred continued his impassioned tirade against Kassandra with a vengeance.

Cullen stepped away from his chair with a growl curling from his barred teeth and Kassandra weakly protested his reaction, reaching out for his shoulder but hesitating. Cullen stormed up to Aelred and got in his face, towering over him by a full head’s height and twice his size. Aelred did not backtrack on his offensive comments toward Kassandra or his accusation, but he swallowed thickly at Cullen’s imposing frame entering his personal space.

“Is that what this is really about, or is it the fact that I refused you presenting your daughter as an option? She was sixteen, Aelred.” Cullen growled out lowly, but the entire hold heard his response. Aelred hung his head in shame but forced himself to challenge Cullen’s authority. He was right and had no intention of backing down.

“I am invoking my right to challenge,” Aelred remarked and the room went still with shock. Those who were long-time members of Lion Claw Hold knew a challenge to a Thane and another had not been issued in nearly three decades, disrupting the peaceful nature between the villagers and their chosen leader.

“Fine. Name your challenge,” Cullen declared and he removed his cloak, handing it to Kassandra to hold for him.

“Unarmed combat,” Aelred replied venomously and flexed his arms when he cracked his knuckles. He and Cullen cleared the table area where everyone sat and picked a space of stone where they could fight. Cullen chuckled darkly at the chosen challenge, knowing where he and Aelred stood.

“A mistake on your part, Aelred.” He stated before he and Aelred rushed at each other and Kassandra witnessed the spectacle in bated breath. She watched the ripple of muscles as Cullen slowly overpowered Aelred and forced him down on his bent knee.

“The challenge has been filled with victory on Thane Rutherford’s behalf!” Cybele announced and Cullen callously shoved Aelred’s hands away from him with his face curling into disgust. Aelred, dissatisfied with the result, scrambled back onto his feet and glared at Cullen’s back.

“No, I cannot allow you to destroy the hold like this!” Aelred exclaimed and Cullen appeared downright furious at the attempt to undermine his authority. Aelred pointed a shaky finger at Kassandra and he shouted out, “I challenge the lowlander.”

“She has a name!” Persephone protested, sounding uncharacteristically enraged by the abysmal treatment of Kassandra by Aelred, the theatrics ruining what was supposed to be a celebration of thanks or both. Farah gently pulled her back when she tried to rise onto her feet and give Aelred a piece of her mind.

“Nevertheless, a challenge has been issued,” Cybele remarked and Cullen whirled on Aelred, ready to rain hellfire down upon the stubborn man when Kassandra interrupted him.

“I, Kassandra Divina Ariella Trevelyan of House Trevelyan, accept your challenge.” Kassandra defiantly remarked and she stepped out from the head of the table. Her eyes told a thousand stories within them, but none showed an ounce of fear or cowardice. She moved past Cullen so that she may face Aelred, despite him being bigger than her—missing the way that Cullen’s eyes flashed. Aelred, predicting a pre-emptive victory, grinned wickedly and pointed to the outside of the cave.

“I raise my challenge: she must fight the beast.”

______________

As Kassandra found out when the entire hold escorted her toward the arena, the ‘beast’ Aelred referred to be the hold’s revered hold-beast, a holy pet that tethered a connection between the gods and the clan. She was expected to fight the creature and emerge with her life (and most of her limbs) intact, but Kassandra sensed inflicting severe harm to the beast might breed resentment and earn her the wrath of the hold. She was backed into a corner with a choice: die, forfeit, or make things harder for herself by surviving.

As for Cullen, he seemed massively displeased by her brazenly accepting the challenge without allowing him to diffuse the situation. Aelred had no right to level a challenge at her after losing to Cullen when he could not adequately accept his loss. But Kassandra figured that Cullen needed to learn something about his newly claimed Chosen: she never took insults to her honor lightly or without a fight.

Kassandra, in her white dress and with a hair filled with flowers, reminisced about all the stories (titled as fairytales and legends) that Selina used to tell her as a child. She would be the unmistakable visage of the maiden in distress, a virginal and innocent beauty faced with perilous death or insurmountable odds and eventually saved by a dashing hero who sweeps her off her feet. Except Kassandra knew there was no handsome, noble hero ready to swoop in and save her because Kassandra considered herself more than the hapless maiden in distress. She was the hero of her own damned story and would never allow herself to forget it.

Whatever the danger might be, Kassandra was resolved to save herself from it.

Arriving outside the arena, Cullen pulled her off to the side and wore a fierce glower that warned others not to follow them. When the two were alone and not near any prying ears, Cullen reached for his belt, obscured under some furs and his cloak, and swiftly pulled out a small, hand-crafted dagger from a leather sheath attached to the belt. He placed the exposed blade in her open palm and curled her fingers around the hilt. Kassandra stared at the dagger in her hand—the only thing possibly standing between her and a gruesome mauling by the hold-beast. When Kassandra’s eyes met Cullen’s, she could see that the anger had drastically cooled and was replaced by stoicism, where little cracks of concern broke through the surface. So, he was not wholly apathetic to harm potentially befalling her?

“You might need this,” Cullen gruffly remarked and his expression spoke for itself. He expected that Kassandra would defend her life above that of the hold’s beast unless she was willing to die in such a spiteful yet gruesome manner. Cullen hardly would say he knew his Chosen but one thing he was confident of: she would never lose in an undignified manner and her choice would reflect her victory—in death or overcoming. Silence settled between the two and Cullen, as he walked past her for the arena, heard a whispered thank you from Kassandra that perhaps he was not meant to hear. His lips fought back the urge to smirk and continued to the arena where his people gathered to watch Kassandra fight for her life and the right to stand among the Avvar of Lion Claw Hold.

Kassandra, clutching the blade against her chest, faced the arena and walked inside with immense pride. She glided down the stairs—her skirts fluttering out behind her elegantly—and jumped down into the gravelly sand stained with past reminders of battles long lost in dried blood splotches. Staring blankly ahead at the rusted iron gate standing between her and whatever beast she faced in combat, Kassandra’s shoulders tensed in preparation when she heard Cullen’s voice echo from behind her toward the top of the arena.

“Let the challenge begin!” Upon his declaration, the iron gate creakily opened and the Avvar cheered loudly in the stands. Kassandra prepared for the worst and hearing a fearsome roar come from inside the darkness, reminding herself who she was. She was Lady Kassandra Divina Ariella Trevelyan, winner of the Grand Tourney and a daughter of Andraste. She feared not death, as her faith bestowed her with the promise of ascension to the Maker’s side upon her earthly expiration. Two hungry eyes flashed through the dark, followed by another roar as the creature emerged from the cloak of shadows, and the blood drained from Kassandra’s face. She knew the beast only through books she read within the dusty, ancient shelves of Divine Galatea Library in Ostwick. A red lion, a creature believed to be extinct, stared back at her.

The lion began menacingly pacing around Kassandra in a circle towards the outer edge of the arena. The sight should have inspired fear or panic in Kassandra, but it did not. Kassandra, still clutching the dagger Cullen gifted to her in hand, observed the movements of the lion circling her. She could see the lion waiting for the optimal moment to lunge and when it reached the starting point of the circle for the fourth time, Kassandra felt an acute sense of peace wash over her. So, she dropped her arm with the dagger and released the blade onto the arena floor with a clatter—drawing the attention of the lion and all those watching on from the stands.

Cullen snapped to his feet as he watched the dagger lay motionless against the bloodied sand and the lion fixated its hungered gaze on Kassandra. She made no move to retrieve the blade; she made no move at all. She stood opposite the lion with a small smile and the frigid breeze of the impending winter sweeping through the arena brushed her hair around. Cullen’s knuckles gripped the edge of the railing and he wondered what in Korth’s name was Kassandra thinking?

Kassandra noticed the lion arch backward, ready to pounce, and remained rooted as the lion raced toward her. She lifted her arm out toward the lion and stared unflinchingly at it, the peace that blanketed her guiding her movements. Her eyes steeled while the storm within them raged on, keeping them open and locked onto the fast approaching lion when, suddenly, the lion skidded to a stop before her. Seated before her, Kassandra admired the lion for a moment before she dropped her hand listlessly to her side. Keeping eye contact with Kassandra, the lion bowed its head and docilely laid at her feet, silently submitting to her.

The Avvar throughout the arena was shocked by the turn of events throughout the night. Cullen’s lips curved into a proud smirk as he leaned along the edge of the arena and watched Kassandra gently stroke the lion’s mane and glanced up at the entire hold spectating with victory in her eyes. She had to be blessed by a divine touch for the ease in which she tamed the lion through eyes alone—not touch, coercion, or threat of force.

“The challenge has been completed with victory awarded to Kassandra. Unless there are any other challenges-” Cullen glared at those around him, daring them to contradict him or speak against his verdict if they were feeling so bold. When no one did, he continued without acknowledging the interruption, “Now, we may continue with the festivities planned.” At his proclamation, the Avvar headed in a mass exodus back to the mountain. Cullen watched his people pass while he waited for Kassandra to climb to the top of the arena. As she trekked up the stairs with the threat of death eliminated, Cullen chose to study Kassandra in a new light. What he once believed to be pure stubbornness because of her sheltered privilege, he saw for what it was: resilience belonging to that of a warrior. There was nothing strictly aristocratic about the noblewoman he found wandering the territory that morning. Kassandra was fearless beyond what he anticipated and built with the steeled resolved of a true Avvar.

____________

Sitting around the table by Cullen’s side for the remainder of the night, Kassandra allowed herself to observe the festivities and celebration of the Avvar. She listened with a curious ear to the stories passed around, folk hymn mumbled drunkenly, and the sounds of laughter. She had felt a weight lift from her shoulders upon returning to the feast with the tension forgotten and perhaps, she mused, that came with the trickling of respect directed her way in the completion of her challenge.

Kassandra drank and ate to her heart’s content from the bountiful harvest provided and prepared by those across the hold. Their comradery and closeness reminded her of when she entered the Grand Tourney and her ties to the other warriors, unbeknownst to the fact that she was a noble lady and often far above their social station. Cullen, who spent quite a bit of his time observing his Chosen, leaned over to whisper to Kassandra as she sipped at her third goblet of honeyed wine.

“How are you finding the feast? Are you enjoying yourself?” Cullen inquired of Kassandra, not taking his eyes off his people celebrating before him while carrying a conversation with Kassandra. Kassandra, finishing off her wine, leaned back along her perch of the arm of Cullen’s chair.

“I suppose this feast is quite…enjoyable.” Kassandra agreed as she studied the empty goblet in her hand, her thumb brushing against the faded bronze with the need for a good polishing. She smoothly leaned forward and set the cup onto the table, catching Cullen’s eye. She reclined back and turned her head to face Cullen, who absentmindedly brushed a lock of hair from Kassandra’s bare shoulder.

“This is a festival intended to celebrate a transition from autumn and into winter. As with all changing of the seasons, we provide an offering to Korth, Hakkon Wintersbreath, and The Lady of the Skies for their favor in the season ahead and to thank them for the blessings they provided for the hold in seasons past.” Cullen informed within a whisper and Kassandra hummed with an inflection of interest.

“Oh? It sounds essential. I wish to learn more about your gods if I am to be living here.” Kassandra remarked and she turned her head back to look across the table. Cullen’s chuckle brushing against her shoulder made a smirk touch his and Kassandra’s lips alike, mirroring each other.

“Another time, perhaps?” Cullen suggested as he gripped the edge of the chair and settled next to her as he shared, “We will be turning in for the night to our chambers.” When Cullen described it as ‘their chambers,’ Kassandra felt her stomach clench and a flush of heat spread across her chest and neck. She should have realized that something like that might occur as she now belonged to Cullen. Cullen smoothly rose from his chair, which caught Delrin’s eyes.

“All rise!” Delrin, who appeared to be Cullen’s second in command from what Kassandra observed, declared and the Avvar, keenly attuned to his movements, mirrored him by rising. Kassandra stood next to Cullen, his frame towering over her in an almost comical manner. Cullen surveyed his people with his stoic demeanor clicking back into place with smooth efficiency.

“Kassandra and I will retire for the evening. Please carry on with the festivities.” Cullen remarked and he wrapped Kassandra’s arm around his like when they first arrived that evening, guiding her back to the throne room. Through her anxiety, what Kassandra failed to notice during her prior visits to the throne room was the open archway in the left-hand corner of the room and Cullen led her through it to reveal a bedroom. There was a bed in the center of the room, a small wooden shelf with various trinkets, and a bear fur rug thrown out before a fireplace roaring with warmth. The room was elegant in a rustic, simplistic manner and Kassandra could see how this room befitted the status of a Thane.

“Will we share a bed or is there some form of consummation ritual that must take place…” Kassandra’s questioned trailed off when she avoided his eyes skittishly and removed her arm from his, fully expecting to brace for the worst. She knew of men and how their overwhelming desires for the carnal spelled out danger. Cullen caught the implication in her words, but she never dared to look at his expression for fear of seeing an answer she would rather not hear.

“You may get ready for sleep,” Cullen deflected the question harshly and left the room, leaving Kassandra to her own devices. Kassandra, not sure when he would return, began unraveling the flowers from her brown curls. She stared at the crumpled flowers in her hand before she cruelly cast them into the fire to watch the flames lick at them and the flowers wither into ashes. Her eyes stared deep into the heart of the crackling flames with a sense of yearning before reluctantly turning to the bed. She studied the sheets and the furs were thrown across, likely for her warmth during the cold winter nights. She removed the worn pair of boots she borrowed from Cybele at the foot of the bed and weakly crawled into the bed, curling up on her side with her back facing the door. Upon laying down and feeling some sense of safety, Kassandra’s eyes shut and she drifted off to sleep instantaneously, drained from the ordeal of that day.


	4. The Girl With a Dragon Heart

The first thing Kassandra noticed as she came to from a deep, oddly fulfilling sleep was the cold of the Frostback Basin in the early hours of the winter morning—the kind that seeped into one’s bones and made its home there. She groggily opened her eyes to the stone ceiling while the world settled in place. She rolled onto her side to see an empty bed but signs that someone had once slept there at some point during the night: Cullen. She did not know what she should feel, much less what to expect.

Forcing herself to sit up, Kassandra blankly stared into the crackling hearth. She watched the flames lick at the pile of wood in a brilliant display of vibrant oranges, reds, and golden yellows swirling in and out of center focus. She was so enamored and entranced by the sight of the fire that she missed Farah entering the room with a scowl and arms crossed over her chest. Farah detested when she was requested by Thane Rutherford to “babysit” Kassandra, but the orders of Thane Rutherford could not be ignored. Therefore, she was tasked with attending to Kassandra throughout the day for the simple fact that Cybele was preoccupied with the ceremonial business until the feast that evening, and Persephone needed to restock the hold’s herbal supply. She would be the only one that Thane Rutherford trusted available, which meant that Kassandra might follow along on her duties for the day. Farah leaned against the wall and quirked a brow at Kassandra’s distracted state. Had she never seen fire before, or was Kassandra that empty in the head?

“Aye, Princess, whatcha lookin’ at o’er there?” Farah barked, and Kassandra, now aware of Farah’s presence, glanced over at her curiously.

“Nothing,” Kassandra murmured guiltily, and she sighed softly. She knew there would be no time for idle, mindless daydreaming. With Farah standing there, she expected Cullen wanted to deliver a message, or the two would be meeting. “How long have you been there?”

“Not long,” Farah replied, clearly unamused by the whole situation. She scrapped at her nails using the pointed tip of her dagger, prompting Kassandra to wonder if all the Avvar carried daggers with them. She began to pick up on little details of these people through observation of the way they interacted with one another, rituals of their lives, and their culture. Since this was to be her life until determined otherwise, Kassandra knew (from years of political machinations and warfare) that there was survival in assimilation. The better you bent into the shapes that were accepted, the fewer people looked at you oddly, and the more comfortable you made your life. It would be her attention to detail and her adaptive nature that would ensure her not only surviving among the Avvar but thriving.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Kassandra inquired, seeing as Farah was still watching her with a slight scowl. She understood Farah might not trust her considering the circumstances of how she ended up in her position. They were less than ideal for her and the tribe, understandably wary of the lowlander in their ranks and elevated to a high status overnight.

“Aye, those ‘n the hold is not inclined to accept ye with open arms, princess. Ye must earn keep with us lot, and trust may come ‘n time. Many of Lion Claw do not see why we should trust ye.” Farah remarked, and Kassandra caught the implication in her explanation. She would need to show Cullen’s people that she was not some useless lowlander who would sit around, be bossy, or whine about the most trivial things. She hoped her show in the arena last night might help to show that she was a warrior, but she could see she needed more. Therefore, Kassandra was determined to demonstrate her worth, and that would come by showing off her skills.

“I understand,” Kassandra acknowledged Farah’s point when she noticed a carved wooden chest innocuously pushed up against the wall, one that was painfully familiar to her homesick heart. Kassandra gracefully slinked from the surprisingly soft sheets and knelt before the chest, fiddling with the intricate and ornate lock. She looked at Farah and quietly gestured to borrow her dagger. Farah sighed but passed the serrated blade to Kassandra, who admired the craftsmanship of the Avvar. She inserted the tip into the lock and gave an experimental jiggle, chewing on her lower lip in deep, undivided focus. A few more deft twists of the dagger and the lock popped open to Kassandra’s cheer. She threw open the chest’s lid with eager eyes to see all the contents of the trunk intact and nothing missing. She sifted through the heirloom jewelry, her books, a journal filled with her handwritten entries, her favorite pair of Antivan leather boots, and several custom dresses that were made for her. And by several, she meant just shy of ten. Kassandra needed a change of attire, and she selected the most comfortable dress to wear from the pile—the most practical choice.

“I will be outside,” Farah informed before sharply turning on her heel and leaving the room to her and Kassandra’s mutual benefit. Kassandra appreciated the privacy greatly. She carried the bundle of fabric in her arms and laid the dress out across the unmade bed. As the dress was custom designed for horseback riding, the dress was one that could be put on without additional assistance and, therefore, made with the purpose of granting easy access to movement. Kassandra discarded the clothing from the night before and kicked the white, sheer into her open trunk chest. She donned the new gown: a deep red with golden accents threaded throughout the full yet lightweight skirt and the billowy sleeves cuffed around the curve of her shoulder. She rolled on some stockings above her smalls and stepped into the well-worn soles of her boots with a blissful sigh.

“Farah? I am ready.” Kassandra declared when she poked her head out through the archway, and Farah grunted in response. Kassandra could see Farah might not be much of a talker, or maybe she just did not like talking to her. She walked out of her and Cullen’s shared chambers and laced her hands together, threading her fingers tightly in a silent release of tension. Wordlessly, Farah gestured for Kassandra to follow along, and the two headed out into the village. Embarking into the sunny yet wintry morning of the Basin, Kassandra deeply inhaled the crisp air to sting and burn at her lungs through an icy cleansing fire. She floated after Farah through the village, never too far behind, and the Avvar stared as she passed by. The Avvar were acclimating to the sight of Kassandra freely walking about the hold, but there was less outward hostility. After what they witnessed in the arena last night, there were those within the hold who wholeheartedly believed Kassandra to be blessed by the hands of their creators. No past challengers had survived the hold beast, much less earned dominance over the wild creature. There had to be something divinely blessed about Kassandra for no mortal could submit a wild, bloodthirsty creature with just a look in their eye—at least, not without some form of divine guidance.

The rich red of her dress complimented her fair skin and wild, dark hair loose around her face—reminding them of where she came from, riches and comfort, and power. But looks were deceiving, and the wolf was dressed in silk and gold. The Avvar were not used to seeing something beautiful in something so constructed, orderly; they relished and focused on the beauty of the natural world rather than the aesthetic appeal of people. But Kassandra was something akin to a fiery sunrise. There was something about her, so familiar and yet so foreign; she carried the wild in her soul.

“Where will we be going?” Kassandra inquired as she noticed their approach toward the edge of the hold. Beyond those walls erected by the Avvar people were thickets of trees, a wilderness filled with dangers unknown to Kassandra, and the unspoken but assured promise of adventure. A small voice questioned why she had made no attempt to flee, to escape from the possession by her captors. _Trevelyan warriors never ran from their problems, tucking tail was not in their blood. Besides_ , she had to be smart about her moves from there on out. She would be an utter fool to believe she could survive alone in the wild with no resources, knowledge of her surroundings, or history of wilderness exploration and with a group of expert hunters searching for her now that she was the Thane’s bride.

“A hunting trip,” Farah gruffly informed, and she looked Kassandra up and down, appraising her for a potential weapon type. It would be suicide to bring her along without some form of defense. She knew there would be a lack of armor that would not slow her down more than a dress. Farah hoped that Kassandra was decent with a bow. 

* * *

The sun sitting lazily in the middle of the cloudless sky suggested that the afternoon had arrived without much fanfare. The hunt was on. Quietly trekking through the woods, Kassandra lingered behind Farah while listening to a story told by Rylen, another Avvar and the self-proclaimed best hunter in the hold—behind Farah. If Delrin was considered Cullen’s right hand, then Rylen would be his left—his enforcer of influence among the people. Delrin was a man of few words and introspective while Rylen was confident, expressive, and a bit of a harmless flirt. With a charming grin and his accent not unlike Farah’s, only a whisper of it among his perfected common tongue, it was no mystery why the eligible women of the hold fawned over Rylen. But Kassandra noticed that Rylen had a soft spot for a mage and a priestess of Hakkon—an elven girl with dark hair and pale eyes. There were some things that never truly changed.

“Rylen, yer yappin’ a wee bit more than I can stand.” Farah declared with a joking grin, interrupting Rylen in the middle of him recounting another hunting escapade. If Kassandra’s count was accurate, that would be the fourth one thus far, and each tale somehow became more and more outlandish.

“Apologies, Farah. I’m just interested in entertaining our esteemed guest.” Rylen remarked, and he nodded his head toward Kassandra. Contrary to most of the hold, he welcomed Thane Rutherford’s unconventional choice in his bride. Kassandra was clever and composed, the perfect balance to the Thane’s intimidating demeanor.

Kassandra remained mute, but she gave a small smirk at his words. In her hands, she awkwardly held a bow in her hand while a sword was attached to her belt in a scabbard. A boy she once knew from her home across the Waking Sea taught her how to use a bow and arrow, so she knew something valuable. However, she was a woman of the sword, first and foremost. But her first sword, the item she cherished with her whole heart, was regrettably lost during her separation from Ostwick. The hold’s blacksmith, a burly and bear-like man, gave her a temporary sword to borrow while brusquely declaring that she would have one of her own handcrafted. The sword she borrowed was as close to her old one as possible, but she felt horribly imbalanced. So, she would choose the bow as her primary protection.

She tried her best to mimic Farah and Rylen’s stealthy gait as they traipsed through the woods on the search for that evening’s dinner. Tonight was the final evening of the three-day feast, and as such, the magnitude of the evening called for the greatest feast yet. So, Rylen and Farah and Kassandra were on the hunt for a beast worthy of such a title.

Kassandra admired the beauty in the stillness of the woods. The thick canopy of the towering trees provided shelter from the sun bearing down. Although winter was upon Fereldan, the sun could make the weather sticky humid around the mid to late afternoon only for the cold to settle back in upon the land without remorse. She blindly toyed with the string of the bow as they walked off the beaten path, her nerves clearly getting the better of her. Back home, she was never allowed onto hunting trips with her uncle’s watchful eye keeping her on lockdown within the walls of Trevelyan Estate. Even her training with the blade was strictly prohibited during the day, and that made it limited to the midnight hour, clandestine trips to the garden, which Kassandra secretly arranged with the household staff. She would spend hours under the moonlight, practicing and mastering the ways of the sword.

Holding a sword on her side did wonders to quell her pointed concerns, instantly gifting her a sense of security in the wilderness hiding darkness. While searching through the woods that resided at the edge of the tall grass plains, the trio passed by a pack of halla. Kassandra suppressed a gasp when a halla, typically skittish and untamed, brushed up against her with a trusting coo before trotting away. She felt suddenly so out of her element, unlike the ease with which she navigated a packed ballroom filled with political friends and foes or a stately function where power plays were enacted across the feast table. The whole experience was uncharted territory for her; nothing she could have been taught (or would have) as a young girl adequately prepared her for what to do.

They passed by halla, druffalo, a heard of nugs—none of which would be good enough for the final feast that evening. Time was their enemy and draining before their eyes. Kassandra noticed that her companions grew discouraged by the lack of options. At some point, the three stopped by the side of the lake for a brief respite and some water to quench their dry throats. Kassandra leaned against a cropping of rocks as she fiddled with the bow. Her borrowed quiver was just as full as when she and the others left at the start of the afternoon. Not wanting to complain, Kassandra kept quiet about how her feet cramped and how her throat was scratchy and dry after what felt like hours with no break. Rylen knelt at the lake’s edge with a round, leather pouch in hand and studied the clear blue water with a keen eye. He drank from his canteen while searching for any disturbances along the muddy bank of the lake. There were a series of tracks all around the water and generally followed the same path, but Rylen’s expert eye found some difficulty in identifying the creature which made these tracks.

Off to the side, Farah wordlessly handed her canteen over to Kassandra without looking her in the eyes. Just an insistent shake of her hand was enough to convey her generous action to Kassandra, who daintily accepted the canteen from Farah. She shakily held it up to her lips and tilted the opening forward, pouring a small bit down her throat. Her mood instantly improved upon soothing, cold relief of water coating her parched throat. She swallowed twice, finally able to do so without prickling pain mirroring the uncomfortable sensation of gargling sand.

“Thank you,” Kassandra said to Farah, who nodded in acknowledgment and reached for her canteen when the sound of rustling from the bushes behind them caught their notice. Kassandra cautiously stepped back from the clump of dark, dense foliage, and she tightened her grip on the bow, growing red hot under her palm. A rumbling snarl emerged through the underbrush, and Farah pulled her sword free of the scabbard.

“Rylen, we got somethin’!” Farah snapped, and Rylen scrambled to his feet, sword in hand and at the ready. The two Avvar covered Kassandra with their bodies, acting as the front lines and barrier between their leader’s bride and danger. Kassandra retrieved an arrow from the quiver strapped to her back and nocked it into the bowstring, prepared to fire at whatever crawled from the underbrush.

“Come out now,” Rylen goaded the creature into revealing itself. Another snarl came in response as the underbrush rustled open to show slit yellow eyes, copper-colored scales that warped to a sickly orange under the sun, and a menacing display of fangs. Rylen and Farah staggered back, horrified by what they stumbled upon, or rather, what snuck up on them. Hakkon Dragonlings were not unheard of within the regional borders of the Frostback Basin, but encountering them was a rarity. Not many who brazenly angered dragonlings returned from the encounter alive or fully intact.

“This is not good,” Rylen vocalized the unanimous panic buried under the silence held between the three as the dragonling fiercely lunged for Rylen first. Kassandra scrambled back with a scream escaping her, and she nearly tripped on the muddy ground. She pulled back the feathered end of the loaded arrow slightly beyond the corner of her lips and let the arrow fly, watching the arrow harmlessly clink off the beast’s scaled hide. The only goal that accomplished was directing the dragonling’s attention onto her, and the guttural growl proceeded a stream of flames from deep within its throat. The three warriors placed some distance between them and the scathing heat of the fire spewing out of the dragonling. Kassandra reached for a second arrow and fired. That arrow managed to pierce a chink in the dragonling’s nearly impenetrable armor but failed to harm the dragonling beyond a mild annoyance. That and a minor hindrance as the arrow awkwardly stuck out from between the elongated neck and the front leg through the soft underbelly.

When she considered trying to strike lightning with a third arrow, Kassandra faltered, and her hand hesitated from collecting another arrow. Farah and Rylen, taking advantage of the dragonling’s discomfort, charged in and battered the dragonling between their swords. Superficial gashes appeared across the scaly hide of the dragonling, and its eyes narrowed, pained. The dragonling lashed out with its spiked tail, smacking into Rylen’s chest with enough force to knock him off his feet and inflict pain. The dragonling snapped at Farah with the intent to draw blood or tear flesh. The two sparred back and forth when Kassandra had an idea. The underbelly would be the only place where the dragonling would sustain severe damage, but the underbelly started around the throat region.

Kassandra discarded the borrowed bow off to the side, and she drew her borrowed sword from the scabbard with the metallic cry of the blade a symphony to her ears. Making eye contact with Farah, who was keeping the beast at bay, she swiftly raced up to the dragonling and kicked the side of its head with the heel of her boot striking the jaw. The dragonling hissed and turned its head to spew more flames or bite the newest disturbance, but Kassandra was not giving the creature an inch. She raised her hilt up before bringing it crashing down, jamming the blade down into the throat through the open mouth. Wide eyes and a strangled roar were the dragonling’s reaction as Kassandra jerked the hilt to deepen the wound. From the blood seeping through the wound where the blade poked out through the chest and dug into the dirt from the soft underbelly. Kassandra pushed the sword further and hoped she struck something fatal like a lung, intestine, or heart. The dragonling thrashed about wildly, which made the situation for it worse, before gurgling and slumping down listlessly. When the dragonling stopped moving, and the light faded from the recesses of its eyes, Kassandra slumped against her sword. Breathing labored, she watched Farah help Rylen onto his feet and dust off the furs along his shoulders. The two Avvar turned to admire Kassandra’s handiwork in slaying the dragonling with deadly, painful efficiency.

“Well, my lady looks like ye found dinner.” Farah complimented with the ghost of a smile; the first time Kassandra had earned one since meeting Farah. She appeared slightly impressed by Kassandra’s quick thinking and even faster reflexes. Kassandra grabbed the hilt of the sword and pulled it from the dragonling, ignoring the shudder-inducing squelch escaping the gaping wound her sword made. She settled the blade proudly back into the scabbard with little worry about the black bloodstains.

“I do hope that the village likes dragon,” Kassandra mused while the depths of the storms that were her eyes glimmered brightly.

* * *

When the trio returned to the hold with a dragonling carcass carried between Rylen and Farah, those in the village stared at the three with priceless shock. Wide eyes and slack jaws were common reactions to a dead dragonling carcass as a few of the Avvar had only heard about dragonlings as the antagonist of childhood stories meant to make them behave. Kassandra gracefully glided in the front while Farah and Rylen followed behind her, all three clearly enthused after the hunt.

They searched for Cullen and eventually discovered him in conversation with Persephone and Delrin along the outside of the arena. Persephone and Delrin were carrying bushels of colorful flowers and vibrant green leaves. Some of them Kassandra recognized, like elfroot and crystal grace, while others she did not.

“By Korth, what is that?” Delrin shouted when he was faced with the dead dragonling after Farah and Rylen cheekily snuck up on him and Persephone. He fumed at Farah and Rylen’s matching grins, which spelled out shenanigans. Persephone—spooked by the dragonling—squeaked and partially hid herself behind Delrin to escape the gaze of the unnerving, lifeless eyes of the carcass.

“A Hakkon dragonling. Native to the southwestern caves in the Basin and with a particularly reclusive streak, they are a rarity to be seen outside their dens. Hunting typically is done by the females, which makes this male wandering an oddity for behavior. However, the rules of the hunt change everything; this is a fine prize to slay, indeed.” Cullen commented with his amber eyes taking in the sight of the conquered dragonlings. The last time that he encountered one of these nasty bastards on a hunt, the damn thing nearly tore his arm off for dinner. Tonight’s feast would be one to remember with the beast as the main meal and the cleaned skin awarded to the hunter who delivered the killing blow as a keepsake, a tradition fervently honored by those in the hold.

“That honor belongs single-handedly to the lady of the hold,” Rylen informed, and all eyes turned to Kassandra as she presented the sword in question, which had the whole blade coated with dried inky blood. She wore a small smirk, rightfully so as she earned the privilege to be prideful. Cullen’s eyes flicked up and down, his lips matching hers. She was a woman with something to prove, and Korth, she did it well. He had a feeling her aura was more than a persona she used to seem authoritative.

“You slew the beast?” Persephone inquired with wide eyes and flustered cheeks. Kassandra nodded, and Farah adjusted the beast where it rested on her shoulder.

“Aye, she did!” Farah confirmed, still reveling in the thrill of the hunt. Cullen lifted the limp head of the dragonling under his hand.

“Have this taken in at once and the hide prepared. I want nothing less than perfection for my Chosen and her contribution to the hold’s survival.” Cullen demanded of Farah and Rylen, and with that, he departed from their company with the explanation of new and pressing matters. Kassandra watched him leave, and as Rylen and Farah went to hand off the carcass to the cooks within the hold. They would prepare the dragonling meat for the grand finale feast. Delrin gave Persephone and Kassandra a respectful, parting nod before he headed to the infirmary where he would leave the herbs for Persephone to sort out. She would be better than he to determine which were needed and of those, which were salvageable.

“Come with me? I could use some company while sorting.” Persephone requested of Kassandra, but she understood if she refused. As the Thane’s chosen, Kassandra was on equal status with Cullen, and that meant no one could demand anything of her. She decided to do as much or as little as she desired, and no one else.

“I would be honored to help. The feast is hours away, and I might consider keeping my hands busy to avoid roaming around aimlessly.” Kassandra remarked nonchalantly, but the faint curve of her lips into what might be considered a smile conveyed some amusement there. She took some of the bushels of herbs into her arms and followed Persephone back to the infirmary.


	5. A Ballad of Love and War

Kassandra had begun to grow fond of the wintery weather characterized by the Basin. Although only a week had passed, Kassandra felt that much more time had gone by. Her days were filled with meaningful tasks around the hold, and she was establishing a solidified routine for her new life. Refusing to acclimate to her surroundings would only make things harder for her in the end, and the simple day to day of Avvar life was quite peaceful; Kassandra could hardly deny that. The Avvar, seeing Kassandra willingly providing for them and submitting to their traditions, grew in their respect for her. She was highly skilled and quite brave for a lowlander noble; the others of her kind tended to send other men to fight their battles and die for their greed.

Tugging at her fur-capped sleeves, Kassandra reached for her dagger, which Cullen gifted her alongside the dragonling hide during the seasonal feast. She sent the dragonling hide to the blacksmith, Johannes, with the decision to dye the hide inky black and fashion it into an armored skirt. She carried the dagger in hand and stepped out into the morning. She received greetings as she ventured into the village, which she returned with a passive, closed-lip smile. She picked up her skirt in her hand and proudly marched down the carved stairs, heading toward the arena. The arena tended to be where she found Cullen, establishing a pattern for the Thane and his Chosen to meet there. As she drew closer to the edge of the arena, she picked up on the clash between swords—the metallic scrapes and clangs like a bewitching melody to her heart, which beat along to the thrum of war drums. Kassandra stilled herself at the bottom of the stairs, closed her eyes gently, and rooted herself in the moment. The breeze brushed across her bare skin, and through the semi-tight braid she managed to assemble by herself that morning. The ballad of the swords played out through a series of imagined battles; the twirls, parries, and calculated swings of the sword envisioned in her mind.

Her eyes flew open when she overheard Cullen’s voice rise from the amphitheater arch of the arena, and she briskly raced to the edge. Peering over the side, Kassandra stumbled upon Rylen and Cullen sparring. Both men were proudly shirtless and grinning, a rarity for Cullen. Kassandra admired the way his swirling, blue body markings glowed under the sheen of sweat coating his visible skin peeking out from his furs. He skillfully parried Rylen’s lightning-fast strike, and Kassandra tilted her head, immersed in the spectacle. She was keen, determined to see who would emerge victorious. Cullen and Rylen circled around each other while wiping the sweat from their foreheads.

“You ready to yield yet?” Rylen questioned Cullen, to which Cullen barked out a laugh. His eyes narrowed into a competitive glare despite his grin directed at Rylen.

“Keep dreaming,” Cullen snapped back as he deflected another of Rylen’s strikes and countered it by slamming his shield into Rylen’s flank. Rylen stumbled backward, and the tables turned with Cullen exploding to offense from his strategy of playing up the defense. Kassandra watched him with a trained eye and unfiltered surprise on her face. She assumed that Cullen possessed considerable, unrivaled skills in combat to match his position within Lion Claw Hold, but she just realized the extent of his prowess through observation. He was trained beyond what she imagined of him.

“By the Maker,” Kassandra whispered, openly impressed by Cullen’s showmanship. She surveyed the fight as it continued to progress until Cullen had the point of his sword pressed up against Rylen’s throat. Now that would mean a yield.

“That constitutes a yield,” Cullen declared, his brow arched at Rylen and he challenged him to respond, to try his hand at maneuvering out, to refute the win. Rylen held his hands up with a chuckle. He was a man who knew when he was beaten.

“Alright, I yield. Although, I have to wonder if you were showing off for our audience of one?” Rylen slyly teased and nudged his head off to the side as he spotted Kassandra long before the checkmate move. He assumed that Cullen saw her already, and his added efforts were meant to impress Kassandra, a woman of the sword, and endear him to her. Cullen blinked at him in confusion and glanced over his shoulder, his eyes finding Kassandra where she leaned against the edge of the arena and observed the battle.

“That was quite the battle,” Kassandra complimented from her perch, and she partially descended the curved staircase. She meant what she said, the Avvar were warriors through and through, which she respected. She would never willingly admit it, but her time with the Avvar exceeded her expectations and, thankfully, were far from her worst fears. The social norms of the Avvar were arguably more egalitarian than she initially anticipated and put ‘civilized’ society to shame in some regards.

Cullen, breathing hard, straightened his posture and wiped the sweat from his brow. His eyes were focused on Kassandra, descending into the arena that he missed Rylen’s devilish flash in his eyes. He and Thane Rutherford were supposed to spar for another hour or so, judging by the sun’s location in the clear, cloudless sky. But Rylen had planned on wooing Quari, the object of his affections until she was tickled pink with blush, and he sensed he should give Thane Rutherford some alone time with Kassandra.

“Ah, good morning, my lady!” Rylen greeted, and he glanced between Cullen and Kassandra, his plan complete for execution. Rylen continued, “I am flattered by your kindness, but Thane Rutherford has bested me fairly. Perhaps he could use a challenge worthy of his caliber- perhaps you might fare better than I?” Rylen’s comment made Cullen’s head snap out of his thoughts with astonishment. Kassandra, meanwhile, appeared delighted by such a suggestion. It could be seen in her eyes; azure gleefully glowed at the promise of a challenge.

“Oh, is that so? I did not realize I was up to par for such a challenge,” Kassandra inquired while she flicked her braid over her shoulder and reached the bottom of the arena. She tilted her head to the side while examining Cullen, wondering if he considered her to be a worthwhile challenger or not.

“Well, that depends,” Cullen mused, and he dropped his sword from Rylen’s neck. Kassandra arched her brow while her gaze examined his figure under the sheen of sweat and the proper circumstances of not being treated like a prisoner, Kassandra was in a better frame of mind to truly know Cullen. She would need to be stricken blind to miss Cullen’s attractiveness, in an unruly and rugged fashion. His figure was not merely the product of genetic blessings, but of laborious training in the art of combat. In all honesty, he reminded Kassandra of the love interests from the tawdry, erotic literature an old friend of hers—Cassandra Pentaghast-Tethras, the Viscountess of Kirkwall—would read whenever she could get free time. Kassandra stifled a laugh at the thought of Cassandra’s scandalized blush while she gasped at the pages of the works her husband wrote for her eyes only.

“On what, if I may ask?” Kassandra’s eyes flicked up and down Cullen’s form while she attached her dagger onto the belt she habitually wore each day. She was looking forward to Cullen’s alleged conditions and criteria she was needed to meet to train with him.

“Should you be interested in such an arrangement, my lady,” Cullen replied evenly and his eyes, glowing radiantly, while they met Kassandra’s. She killed a dragonling, which was nothing to shrug off, and she was as dangerous as she was beautiful—remarkably. Kassandra was pleasantly taken aback by his answer, which she made known by the soft chuckle and the corners of her lips rebelliously tugging upwards.

“I do love a good spar,” Kassandra confirmed, and she cracked her knuckles, her attention turning to the wooden rack of melee weapons set up against the arena wall. Rylen leaned over and picked up his discarded sword from the ground, trying his best to stifle a laugh from how Cullen’s eyes followed Kassandra. He had never seen Thane Rutherford so enraptured by a woman before. There were beautiful women who were members of Lion Claw Hold and plenty of offers from neighboring tribes of their most breathtaking women to merge with the hold. But Thane Rutherford unequivocally and decisively refused every woman who offered, much to the confusion of the hold- well, mostly those not in his inner circle consisting of Farah, Persephone, Cybele, Delrin, and he.

“By all means,” Rylen reminded them of his (soon to be gone) presence but was clearly okay with leaving them to their personal time. They were intended to be bonded in marriage anyways, so some one-on-one time was expected for them to share. “I shall leave you two to it.”

Rylen gave a teasing bow to Cullen and Kassandra before sprinting toward the stairs leading out of the arena. Kassandra hummed to herself as she sifted through the swords on display with a critical eye. She tested a few until she found one that was close to being perfectly balanced, twirling it. Kassandra turned around to square off with Cullen.

“Since you are foregoing a shield, I shall do the same to make things even between us,” Kassandra declared to Cullen’s amused chuckle at her unafraid gait as she approached him. Her fearlessness intrigued him. It made him wonder how she could be so different than most lowlanders.

“Very well,” Cullen agreed as he and Kassandra tapped their blades together in a warrior’s custom of respect before placing distance between each other. They analyzed the other cautiously while Kassandra prowled around Cullen. She learned that she should always stay moving. Cullen contemplated giving chase as the hungry bear hunted down the unwitting halla, but he held back. Kassandra fully expected a more traditional sparring exchange to ensue with parrying strikes or outright dodging as crucial elements of her strategy. But “playing dirty” was not strictly banned from her tactical arsenal, and with a face like hers, she often got away with it. For now, she would stick to the rulebook while she awaited the back and forth banter of their swords—a sensation like music to her ears.

Cullen, deciding to make the first move, lunged toward Kassandra at full speed, and she barely deflected him away with her sword. Their eyes linked together, and Kassandra held her sword pointedly between her and Cullen with a wolfish grin. She used the sword to maintain distance and bide her time, a multi-use strategy that could provide her the make or break she required for a victory. Cullen narrowed his eyes and observed Kassandra, knowing her plan for what it was. Cullen suspected that Kassandra approached battle in the same way he did: with the mental fortitude and quick decision-making that one might use in a chess game. War was a mental endeavor as equally as it was a physical pursuit and the best warriors trained on both fronts. Cullen deflected Kassandra’s blade to the side and raced into her guard, but Kassandra lifted her sword for a clash. For every ounce of force Cullen exerted, she matched it with fervor.

Their blades were intersected, and their faces were leaned in, carefully eyeing each other while trying to determine their opponent’s next move. Kassandra started feeling her arms burning as the sword, leaning on the heavier side, worked to her disadvantage and Cullen’s gain. She would have to compensate with whatever she had left that Cullen did not. That was turning out to be quiet the challenge as Cullen held a strength advantage and was quite fast, almost Kassandra’s equal. Therefore, mental fortitude became the name of the game. The strikes and slashes were being exchanged, too quick for Kassandra to register as she shifted from conscious movements to an instinctual survival strategy.

Little did Cullen or Kassandra realize that a crowd gathered at the edge of an arena, allured by the sound of swordplay. The sight of Kassandra engaging Cullen in a sparring match piqued the eyes watching on as many wanted to see for themselves how Kassandra fared against their best warrior. By how things were looking thus far, Kassandra knew how to hold her own.

The battle took a twist none could have predicted when Cullen disarmed Kassandra of her sword. Before he or anyone else processed it, Kassandra countered Cullen’s sword with her curved dagger that she unsheathed from her belt. They met in another deadlock with Kassandra’s face twisted up in a grimace and narrowed eyes. Her hair fell loose, unruly from her braid into wild waves around her face. Her grimace morphed into a smirk when she gave Cullen a fierce shove back.

“I would not count me out yet, Thane Rutherford,” Kassandra spiritedly warned while she flexed the dagger when Cullen inched closer with his sword. Kassandra deftly danced around him and strategized her next move, which could be defined as ‘risky.’ She sprinted at Cullen, hooked her curved blade around his sword, and disarmed the both of them with a flick of her wrist. When the blades clattered against the floor, Kassandra forcibly kicked them away from either of their grasps. Cullen studied her, and a smirk took over his lips when he advanced on her.

“But neither of us are armed anymore,” Cullen pointed out, and Kassandra knew that meant hand to hand combat might ensue. Two beats passed before Cullen lunged and wrestled Kassandra to the ground, the two of them splaying out among the sand. Cullen’s legs shot outward in a straddling position, feet digging into the ground, and his hips locked her down. Kassandra gasped when Cullen’s arms gripped above hers and latched her to the ground by her wrists. Cullen pinned her hands above her head and effectively trapped her against the ground with no means of escape. Well, no obvious escape options. “And I believe this constitutes as a victory for me.”

Kassandra dropped her eyes innocently and looked at Cullen, despite the plan in her mind. Kassandra parted her lips as if to concede, but that was not what Cullen got. Instead, Kassandra bucked her hips upwards and the startle that Cullen felt served as the distraction she needed. His grip on her wrists slackened enough, and she, with one hand, broke free of restraints. Her free hand slinked down to his belt, where she stole the dagger out of the sheath and pressed the serrated edge of the blade to his throat. Cullen swallowed, his Adam’s Apple bobbing, as Kassandra purred softly at her undisputable win.

“Not quite,” Kassandra teased, and Cullen let go of her wrists, knowing that he was beaten. Kassandra, in turn, lowered the dagger from his neck and witnessed the crowd whispering about that eyebrow-raising move, her and Cullen’s compromising position, and the fight overall.

“This one is yours, my lady,” Cullen remarked while he dismounted from the straddle position, and Kassandra sat herself up. She ran her fingers through her hair, gave a breathless laugh, and could sense Cullen had a question for her. Cullen cleared his throat while he collected his sword, “You seem to have extensive training. How did you learn the ways of the blade?”

“I learned alongside my older brother, Theodore, when he started learning swordplay. He was around twelve, and I am around three years younger than he. He was the one who taught me everything I needed to know when his instructor would leave for the day, and we would spend hours in the courtyard or gardens together. I soon amassed more knowledge than he did in the act of the sword, and I was taken on as a pupil by the same instructors when my family realized my talents. One might say that I am preceded by a reputation back where I am from.” Kassandra shared proudly, knowing she spent the better part of her formative years training to be a warrior. That was the humblest way she could reference her Grand Tourney champion status without bragging about it.

She noticed Cullen’s approving nod, and he finally acknowledged the observers with a firm glare, his eyes suggested that they go about their business and his people did just that by dispersing. However, what those select few witnessed would make its way around the hold through gossip. No one missed the downright intimate nature of the spar between Thane Rutherford and his Chosen.

“We should do this again,” Cullen suggested to Kassandra, seeing as she provided the greatest challenge in quite some time, and he respected her skills as a warrior.

“I agree.”

As Cullen and Kassandra assumed, word of their close battle spread through Lion Claw Hold’s ranks with great interest and the frenzy of a brushfire. Kassandra’s victory added to her reputation as an enigma; she was the noblewoman filled with secrets and a fire, unlike the other lowlanders, a call of the wild burning in her soul like the sun during a Solace day.

* * *

The two were received by stares throughout the morning and well into the afternoon when Farah approached Kassandra while she visited Persephone. After the previous hunting trip with the dragonling and the newly revealed information that Kassandra demonstrated herself as Thane Rutherford’s equal in combat, Farah’s respect for the lady of the hold drastically increased. The loyalty the ladies of the hold developed toward each other was unrivaled by any other bond as Avvar women looked out for each other with the admiration of sisters.

“Farah, wonderful to see you!” Persephone cooed when she and Kassandra, who was studying a ceramic bowl with herbs mixed in, noticed Farah’s arrival. Persephone sweetly smiled and laced her hands when she asked, “Did you need something, or are you here for me?”

“Actually,” Farah cleared her throat to hold back a bark of laughter while pointing at Kassandra. “I came to offer Lady Kassandra a chance to join meh on ‘nother hunt. Although visiting ye is a bonus, Perse.” Persephone blushed at Farah’s comment, and Kassandra glanced between them, feeling foolish for missing the flirtatious exchange between the two women before. She politely tuned out their conversation to give them some deserved privacy. It was like she was not even there.

“To answer your offer, Farah, I would be happy to tag along,” Kassandra remarked when the silence resumed without looking up from the book of potions laid out on the handcrafted table. She was wearing a more comfortable outfit since that morning: a short fur dress, leather trousers, and her boots.

“Excellent,” Farah declared, and the two women bid Persephone adieu before they headed toward the gates of the hold. Farah had collected a bow for Kassandra since she assumed that she would keep her dagger on her persons. They walked through the village, side by side, and accepted the greetings from those they passed along the way. When arriving at the gates, Kassandra took the bow and fully stocked quiver from Farah.

“So, when will we be heading out?” Kassandra asked while she rolled her head from side to side, wanting to keep her body limber and open. Farah picked up her sword and admired how it glinted in the sunlight of the late morning.

“Ah, we’re awatin’ one more,” Farah stated while scanning the horizon for their last expected member when she spotted the blue body markings and brown furs of Thane Rutherford approaching them. Farah mentioned that she planned to invite Kassandra along on her hunt that day, and Thane Rutherford requested that he come as well. Farah agreed, seeing as there was no reason not to, and Cullen looked forward to it. He personally enjoyed a good hunt. Kassandra’s eyes met Cullen’s as he grew closer, watching as his lips quirked into a confident, lopsided smirk.

* * *

Cullen, Farah, and Kassandra headed out through the dense woods as they approached the edge of Lion Claw Hold’s territory line. Kassandra found herself fascinated by Cullen’s shift in demeanor when they walked through the unrestrained bounds of the wilderness. He seemed in his element. Beyond the edge, there was open terrain belonging to no one and no clan, but they could encroach on other holds’ territory. The open areas boasted a high likelihood of them encountering other Avvar, which could escalate into something more worrisome should their fortune determine a blood feud. As Cullen and Kass discussed that topic while Farah remained silently stalking for prey.

“-So, do you interact with the leaders from the other tribes often?” Kassandra inquired while she plucked an arrow from the quiver and loaded it into the bow. Farah had coaxed a halla out toward them and into Kass’ line of fire. She, in concentration, lifted the bow up and pulled the feathered back of the arrow to her lips. She lined it up to the halla in her sight, innocently grazing at the edge of the trees.

“Rarely,” Cullen replied, intrigued by his Chosen’s affinity and interest regarding politics. Personally, he hated politics with a passion. However, Kassandra’s quick wit and tongue as sharp as the dagger attached to her hip could enthrall any court in Thedas, from Tevinter to Antiva or Orlais. She would be the center of attention wherever she went. Kassandra smirked as she released the arrow, letting it fly until the dull thud was heard. “I find them…tedious.”

“Ah,” Kass hummed while Farah retrieved the halla’s lifeless carcass, and she lowered the bow away from her face. She glanced over at Cullen, who chuckled from her minimal reaction.

“Ah? That is all you think?” Cullen questioned, stunning Kassandra with his playfulness. Such a departure from the stern stoicism of Thane Rutherford, the leader of his equally stoic people. Where did all of this come from? She planned on a feisty response when the two of them overheard Farah calling for them.

“Thane Rutherford, Lady Kassandra! We’ve incomin’ company,” Farah announced, which caused Cullen and Kassandra to drop their conversation and bolt over to Farah’s side. Farah had taken a knee at the edge of the tree line by the halla when she caught wind of foreign voices approaching unnervingly close to the boundaries of Lion Claw Hold. Both Cullen and Kassandra were tense and armed while they followed Farah’s line of sight to see five men in furs, marked by red-painted swirls across their exposed skin. A growl escaped Cullen as he recognized the colors from a sizable distance; here came trouble, marching up to his home.

“Are they friendly or foes?” Kassandra questioned, not taking her eyes off the group of hunters while they boisterously joked and shoved each other around like adolescent boys in Ostwick’s town square. Cullen, who refrained from answering, pulled his sword out of his scabbard. That proved answer enough for Kassandra.

“Those are of Embrium Dragon Hold… Farah and Kassandra, stay here!” Cullen strictly ordered, his once open state immediately closing off, as he squared his shoulders back and stalked across the tree line and into the tall grass plain. He moved with power, poise, and purpose toward the men of Embrium Dragon Hold were gaggled up and messing around immaturely. Much like his hold’s namesake, Cullen considered himself a man with a heart of a lion, and that meant he would protect his hold (who he considered as his family) at all costs. Kassandra watched on in silence, bated breath as the leader of the Embriums noticed Cullen and strutted up to him with a sneer. A tense, visibly angry discussion ensued between the two. While Cullen towered over his rival a whole head or two in height and held a muscular build, the cocky stranger had reinforcements. Five to one, Kassandra did not like those odds. Farah noticed the way the lady of the hold instinctively reached for the dagger hilt and stopped her from reaching it.

“Contain yerself, m’lady,” Farah cautioned Kassandra, who gave a small growl of her own. She could sense the tension from where she and Farah were cloaked by the shadows of the tree line. She felt unsettled by Cullen going it alone. Farah understood her dilemma; she wanted to help Than Rutherford too, but he gave them a wise directive to stay back. Besides, the Embriums would need to be foolish or suicidal to launch an unprovoked attack against a Thane as influential, revered, or feared as Thane Rutherford.

Eventually, the rival spat out a final dig at Cullen before stalking back to his group, and Cullen turned around, revealing his murderous snarl. He saw Farah and Kassandra’s curious gazes, but there would be no time for idle prattle. They were to pack up the halla and return to the hold early for Cullen to call his war council.

“Cu- Thane Rutherford?” Kassandra’s attempt at an inquiry was brushed off when Cullen walked past her and picked up the dead halla. Without speaking, he yanked out the arrow from the halla’s neck and threw the carcass over his shoulder. His amber eyes were simmering from the heated exchange between himself and one of the Embriums, not the Thane but a relative of him. The cocky bastard nearly earned himself a fist to his crooked nose with how freely he ran his mouth while so close to where he should not be. The Lions of Lion Claw Hold was on unsteady ground with the Embriums, who were the agitators of the nearby Avvar tribes.

“We are leaving and returning to the hold, now.”


	6. Bonded In Blood and Heart

Standing around the throne room before a great stone table and a map stretched across the table’s top, Cullen had summoned his war council to discuss pressing matters. Over two weeks passed since the fateful encounter between Cullen, Farah, and Kassandra and the wandering warriors of Embrium Dragon Hold, and since then, nothing good came of the contact. The insolence of the opposing tribe knew no limits, at least from Cullen’s perspective. He knew that some other tribal leadership might incline toward declaring their actions innocuous, given they were on the technically open territory. Still, Cullen knew their intentions were anything but benign toward his clan. Lion Claw Hold was his responsibility, and he would sooner die than fail his people.

The tensions between the two holds were escalated following the initial encounter, but that should have been the end of the story. It was not.

The threat of a blood feud was on the horizon and on the lips of the villagers. There had not been a blood feud between any holds since Cullen had been alive and far longer than that from what he recalled. Blood feuds were rare, costly, and downright nasty, depending on which two clans went to battle amongst each other. He usually would avoid warfare over such a small skirmish, but it was no longer an isolated instance of disrespect.

During another routine hunt, Farah and Rylen and Aelred were encountered by the same group from days prior, insinuating that they had failed to leave the area and lurked around. However, this time marked an apparent intrusion onto Lion Claw Hold’s land as Farah caught them snooping around the hot springs to the west, which belonged under their territory as dictated by the past Thanes over thirty years ago. When confronted with the information, the encounter turned hostile, and a fight ensued.

“Aye, the hunt began as ordinary. Farah and I were leading the way with some of the young lads of the hold, hoping to give them their first hunting experience. So, we rounded up the boys early in the morn and brought them out the west gate. We were still on our territory since Farah, and I set up several stationary targets meant for them to practice with before we ventured out further than our friendly borders and encountered any dangerous wildlife. The lads were demonstrating a considerable aptitude for the hunt, most of them. Some were even ready for their initiation hunt. It was when we were cleaning up the targets that one of the boys spotted movement in the trees and whispered that we were not alone. Farah and I immediately armed ourselves and stood between the lads and whatever were in the trees. I yelled at the threat to show themselves and, at my demand, several Embrium Dragon Hold warriors ambled from the shadows. They were on our land without express permission, so I told them they should leave before there was any trouble over their intruding presence. But they refused to leave. It was the leader of their scouting group, three in all, who swung at me first. Farah and I attempted to handle them without assistance and did have a good handle on things. But the lads took it upon themselves to arm and fight too, demonstrating their dedication to the Avvar way. They were braver than I could have asked of them to be. We managed to defeat the intruders and forced them to retreat until they were off hold territory.” Rylen recounted the struggle between clans and Farah, standing beside him, nodded along to keep him honest. Rylen loved a good story, but this was neither the time nor place for embellishments. Both knew this and were solemn with their relaying of news to their horrified or angered companions. Throughout the recollection of the encounter, Cullen felt himself gradually grew more furious. There was nothing accidental about the first encounter after hearing this new information. Instead, Cullen believed that Embrium Dragon Hold was attempting to ignite a feud with them. There was no other explanation for the behavior exhibited and the demonstrated aggression stemming out of the blue.

The others around the table were keenly aware of Cullen’s less than pleased reaction to the news, seeing as it was written all over in his face. His eyes, illuminated by the depths of his repressed anger, seeped through and harnessed a glow into the amber. He clenched at the edge of the table with ghastly white knuckles and firm jaw.

“What were the injuries?” Cullen inquired through an infuriated growl, willing to make those responsible for the unwarranted fight pay dearly. Cullen knew that vengeance was a vice of his; it called to him from his blood and screamed when anger awakened inside of him.

“Minimal and minor on our side,” Persephone chimed in softly from across the table, reminding everyone of her presence. She tended to remain quiet during war council meetings as she operated the home front with taking care of women and children, the sick, and the wounded. She was not fond of battle, although her magical prowess harnessed some destructive capabilities with lightning magic. If they were to choose to engage in a blood feud, her role within the hold would increase and become more difficult. Cullen nodded, glad to hear some good news within all the Korth forsaken trials.

“Yeah, one of theirs got the worst of it. We are talking about a nasty gash up the lad’s side,” Rylen interjected with a grimace and earned himself an elbow from Farah. He was not helping with that attitude. Cullen sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and mere seconds away from slamming his fists onto the table. His frustration telegraphed to those around him, who all felt as he did. None of those at the table were eager to invest in a blood feud but knew that Embrium Dragon Hold was far from as averse to conflict, as evidenced by their history as the bloodiest clan. They started blood feuds as a cure for boredom, and the only thing keeping Cullen from ignoring their antics as petulant, immature, or inappropriate was the size of their hold. If they were a smaller number, they would be merely a nuisance. But Embrium Dragon Hold possessed the amount of a small army. So, the odds stacked against Lion Claw Hold, even with the knowledge that Cullen possessed better fighters than their potential foe.

The atmosphere around the table plunged into a solemn silence, knowing the situation hardly boded well for them. Peace was preferable to all at the table, even as a tribe of warriors. They knew the war was inevitable but did not seek it out like foolhardy men willing to die for “honor.” What were they to do? What were they to tell their people, who relied on them for protection and guidance? Uncertainty was not an option. Cullen sighed exhaustedly and crossed his arms, sensing the threat would not disappear anytime soon.

“I know you were acting in the valid interest of self-defense, and I do not blame your reactions,” Cullen assured Farah and Rylen once they had finished speaking, and their gracious nods were not lost on him. Cullen could not claim he would react differently under the circumstances, and there would never be a time where he would berate his people for protecting the hold from a potential threat. But the encounter brought up another matter, one he was dreading. “However, that sentiment will not be shared by Embrium Dragon Hold or their leadership. Thane Baelr Snowfallson will determine this as an act of our aggression instead of what it truly is. They are inclined to believe their own, even when in the wrong. That will then determine retaliation warranted, which means there is a blood feud on the horizon—whether we want it or not. Therefore, it is in our best interest to prepare for the worst-case.”

“Then, what shall we do about it? I speak for all of us when I say that the hold stands behind you, Thane. It has before, and it still does, nothing has changed,” Delrin spoke up from his post beside Cullen, silent only to thoughtfully consider their options. Between him, Cullen, Rylen, and Farah, they comprised the greatest strategists of the hold. The others chimed in with their agreement in Cullen’s ability to lead them and how he never led them astray.

“Farah, I want you to track any movement of Embrium Dragon Hold in the nearby areas of unclaimed land. I would not be surprised to find them hiding out there while reinforcements mobilize. A critical step of gathering information on their capacity will come from observation and surveillance. Persephone, I want you to ensure that the hold is prepared and adequately stockpiled with herbs and pre-made potions. Should you require assistance, you have the command to select any villagers to take on as apprentices under your watchful eyes. The more hands, I would say, the better. Rylen, you are to prepare hunting parties to gather fresh meat and furs from any animals you can find. We want to counteract the potential for shortages or blockades by Embrium Dragon Hold from snuffing out our resources and forcing our hand. Delrin, you shall work alongside me to prepare all the able-bodied men, women, and youth for combat. That includes equipping them as archers, warriors, or mages, depending on their aptitude. Anyone else not fitting into those categories may remain as a healer or extra hand protecting the children and those unable to fight. Cybele, you have an additional task to complete with your spiritual guidance. I want Kassandra prepared for the rites of unity, should any fighting break out. She will depart for the hot springs at once, and I shall prepare an armed guard to accompany you to prevent any potential harm. These shall bless her for marriage and begin her induction into the hold, making the union between her and I recognized by the gods and other tribes. With your duties, I expect them to be conducted in the utmost haste. Dismissed,” Cullen declared, and he observed as all his council nodded respectfully before departing the throne room.

* * *

Kassandra sat in the comfort of her and Cullen’s shared chambers, resting among the sheets and still asleep. She seemed unaware that Cullen already slipped away or that the hold was barely waking with the sun poking out from behind the mountains. Her dark hair splayed out like a halo among the pillows, her pale face illuminated by the dying embers gathered around the charred remains of the once roaring fireplace, her body enveloped in the sheets and furs as she was unaccustomed to the cold during the evenings. She, nestled in the sheets and at peace, felt drawn from the recesses of sleep by soft shuffling noises originating from across the room. Feet against the stone flooring and the lack of crackling from the hearth roused Kassandra from her lighter slumber, seeing as she no longer slept as deeply as she did in Ostwick.

“Hello?” She sleepily questioned while she rubbed at her eyes, bringing the world into vision from blackness. When she sat up, she spotted Persephone politely lingering by the door and the faces of Cybele, Quari, and Farah peeking in behind her.

“Good morning, my lady!” Quari greeted for the group, and Kassandra, though confused, gave a tired smile while she rubbed at her eyes.

“Uh, good morning. Is there a reason why you all are standing in my doorway?” Kassandra inquired as politely as possible for still being half asleep. She reached for her comb to draw it through her tangled hair, messed up from sleep.

“We have orders from Thane Rutherford to prepare you with some Avvar rituals. We will be conducting several key initiations to include you into Lion Claw Hold,” Cybele explained to Kassandra and she, picking up on the urgency, pulled herself from the covers. She knew that there was more explanation as to why such an order occurred and that Cullen seemed more withdrawn through the last few days. However, she knew time and place of when to press the question, and neither was now or here.

“Alright,” Kassandra agreed, and with confirmation that her floor-length, puffy-sleeved nightgown would constitute as appropriate attire, Kassandra followed the girls from her chambers and down into the village. As they passed by, other Avvar women and adolescent girls dropped whatever task they were working on at hand and joined in the walk, forming a processional of nearly half the village.

Those among the women who were warriors armed themselves with their personal weapons while the mages of the group, four in total, which included Quari and Persephone, grabbed their staves. The men of the hold watched the processional of women following behind Quari, Cybele, and Kassandra between them as the processional traveled through the eastern gates toward their destination. From his perch on the cliffside, Cullen studied Kassandra as she and the others disappeared from sight. She would either come back as blessed or not at all.

The scenic view of the forest obtained Kassandra’s admiration as the gaggle of women trekked along a hidden path. They were bound for the Stormheart Shallows, twin hot springs filled to the brim with mineral water and rumored to possess healing properties. The springs and the lake not far from them were the sites of religious ceremonies conducted by the hold and within their borders. Listening to the whispers of the women behind her, Kassandra used their conversations as a distraction from whatever rituals she might face.

She did not know what was in store for her but understood that she was becoming an Avvar. Her stay here seemed like one of a more permanent nature, and therefore, she must adopt compatible beliefs. She grew accustomed to the way of life there in Lion Claw Hold, much happier than if she remained in noble company. She would rather be among “savages” than the pretty songbird of a wife for a nobleman she detested.

* * *

The Stormheart Shallows were breathtaking to Kassandra, who had never seen anything remotely like it back home in Ostwick. The waters were bright and clear, with steam rising up into the still-dark skies of the winter morning. The women and girls who accompanied Kassandra took posts around the hot springs, forming a rather large circle. Flanked by Cybele and Quari, all eyes were fixated on Kassandra as the women of the hold were interested to see whether the gods would reject her from their clan or bless her with entry. Thus far, she demonstrated blessings far beyond what they could imagine of mortal luck, and many believed that this was another trial she would pass.

“With those gathered to witness the Claiming, I welcome you. The gods grant me the power to present a potential warrior before them and question their worthiness to join us. Today, we must determine whether Korth, The Lady of the Skies, and Hakkon Wintersbreath deem Kassandra Divina Ariella Trevelyan an Avvar.” Cybele declared to the onlookers, her typically wispy voice adopting resonance and strength she apparently reserved for ceremonial matters. She turned to Kassandra and gestured to the nightgown she wore. “The first step requires you to undress.”

Still uncomfortable with all the nudity but understanding the purpose, Kassandra obediently followed the suggestion and disrobed, unraveling any hesitant modesty she built up during her noble lifestyle. She reached behind her back and unfastened the buttons to her nightgown one by one. With each button popped out of the eyelet, the gown grew looser around her body until it ultimately dropped from her figure. Kassandra then eliminated her smallclothes not long after, making herself naked as the day she was born. She kept her eyes away from the eyes of the onlookers and focused on the sight of two young girls approached with stone bowls in their hands and perfumed paint residing within them, glittering with the brightest hues of blue and yellow and red and green. Cybele and Quari accepted the bowls and stood on either side of Kassandra.

“Before we begin, you must conduct the oath,” Quari told Kassandra, who quirked her brow and glanced over to Cybele for a reason. She was not aware of any oath-

“Do you, Kassandra Divina Ariella Trevelyan, renounce all former allegiances and embrace the mark of the Avvar? You shall pledge your loyalty to us now, to Lion’s Claw Hold above all else, including the land you once called your home. You worship the gods in Korth, Hakkon Wintersbreath, and the Lady of the Skies over all other lowlander idols. You subject yourself to the rules, customs, and culture of the Avvar people. You promise to protect those of Lion Claw Hold with your life and until your dying breath.” Cybele recited from memory, having done this plenty of times beforehand.

“I promise,” Kass remarked, agreeing to the oath. No lack of confidence to be seen in her eyes or missed in her words, Kassandra’s conviction came as a little of a surprise to herself. She loved Ostwick and the memories she made there, but it was no longer the place she knew. Her family was gone, and those who remained were more enemies than blood. She was a pawn of political ambitions rather than a person of own autonomy. Therefore, there was nothing left for her in Trevelyan Estate for all its ornate architecture and beautiful walls. She would start a new life here, a new beginning where she felt valued for more than superficial things.

“We shall now mark Kassandra in the symbols of the Lady of the Skies, preparing her body to be blessed. She hopes to accept these blessings and shall use her body, if chosen as an Avvar, to defend her hold and continue the legacy of it though procreation and conquest.” Cybele explained before spending a while on painting Kassandra’s naked body with their fingers. The paints were made from flowers and berries, ground together with white paste. Swirling flowers and symbols of good fortune and luck sprawled across the canvas of Kassandra’s naked body like a tribute to the gods for their blessing. Once finished, Cybele and Quari passed the bowls back to the girls holding them and stepped back to let the onlookers admire the work done.

“The next ritual shall require our entry into the waters for a cleansing,” Cybele explained as she and Quari, dressed in ceremonial garb, handed Quari’s staff to the nearest woman and guided Kassandra into the boiling water of the hot springs by hands along the small of her back. Her skin screamed red and raw underneath the piercing heat, and she swallowed back audible discomfort. The three waded into the bubbling waters until the level reached above Kassandra’s bosom, and Cybele deemed it suitable. She had Quari stand on one side of Kassandra while she took the other. She gave a short blessing and looked to Kassandra. “Cross your arms over your chest.”

Kassandra curled her fists and settled them over her bosom, glancing around at the circle of women standing at the water’s edge through the faint screen of smoke rising off the water’s surface. Flushed cheeks and the painted skin warping on the water’s clear reflection. “Like this?” She asked.

“Yes, and take a deep breath,” Cybele advised, and Kassandra did so, realizing what was about to happen much too late to protest. Before she knew what was happening or could fight back, Cybele’s fingers pinched her nose, and Kassandra was pushed under the water’s surface. Her whole body enveloped in warmth and the odd sensation of the world moving around her. As she submerged with Cybele and Quari holding her down, time slowed down, and the world muffled except for the hushed whispering of her name. The voices were not that of Cybele or Quari, which caused her stomach to curl anxiously. Her closed eyes witnessed scenes flashing before her eyes: a flock of birds flying across the sky, the sight of an Orlesian army marching across a field, skin illuminated by the kiss of firelight, and two women. One boasted wild eyes, dark hair, and a crown made of bones and crow wings while the other glowed with the light and wore a face she knew from the stained-glass windows of her city’s Chantry: Andraste. Andraste stood smaller than the other woman and held a staff not unlike a mage’s while the other woman stated at Kassandra with a knowing look… and she knew she was staring into the eyes of The Lady of the Skies. The visions vanished as her body struggled without air and became weightless, buoyant toward the surface of the water.

Breaking the surface and gasping for breath, Kassandra sucked air into her startled lungs, and her eyes jolted open as the Avvar women surrounding her cheered on. Cybele gave the symbol that she successfully completed the cleansing ritual, washing her free of past entanglements and crafting her into the clean slate for which her story with the Avvar might be written on. Quari and Cybele assisted Kassandra to stand up in the waters, and Persephone reached her hand down to help Kassandra back onto the bank of the shore of the hot spring, which Kassandra humbly accepted. Kassandra shivered when the crisp mountain air touched against her damp, bare skin and causing her to break out in bumps. Although her body was startled from the temperature reversal, her mind was scrambling to understand the visions she saw while plunged beneath the water.

 _“Oh, heavenly mother, have I mistaken who you are? Has the Chantry distorted the truth of my faith and used me? The sense is not lost on me, and I have seen the error in my ways-”_ Kassandra’s thoughts were interrupted when Quari gifted her the pelt of a skinned bear to cover up with. Upon further inspection, Kassandra recognized it as belonging to Cullen from its sheer size. Kassandra accepted the hide without hesitation, wrapping the fur around her starkly naked body and letting Quari settle the hood over her damp hair. The protection of the pelt provided some solace for Kassandra in modesty, and she gleaned some power from wearing the fur, shoulders squaring in authoritative presence. She understood that she was swearing to assimilate into a hold she would lead alongside Cullen.

“The final rite shall come as a test of loyalty and demonstrate the bond of family you swear to uphold by joining Lion Claw Hold as a Thane’s Chosen. You must drink the blood of those who came before you and absorb their spirit within you. Their bravery and identity marked by a hold exemplary of greatness shall, in turn, become yours.” Cybele declared ominously as she produced a chalice filled halfway by a dark, indistinguishable liquid and prayed a spoken chant of tongues over the blood. Kassandra nearly swallowed at the thought of consuming blood.

“Do not be alarmed, my lady. It is merely mulled wine,” Quari promised Kassandra through a hushed whisper when she walked behind her, combing her damp tresses and adjusting the bear’s head hood once more. Kass hummed knowingly, graciously, and humoredly all at once. She prepared to accept a slow gulp of the spiced wine until Cybele gestured for her to lean back and held up her arm to pour. The wine would come cascading down, not unlike the waterfall within hold territory. Kassandra tilted her head back and greedily drank the wine flowing from the chalice. The spices mixed in danced along her tongue and breathed new life into her soul. Some droplets escaped her lips and tainted her skin along her chin and neck—red and streaked from the wine’s touch. Upon the chalice removed of its last drop, Cybele tilted her arm back up, and Kassandra straightened her posture, allowing all the women to see her with “blood-stained” maw and a wild look in her eyes.

“All the rituals have been completed per the gods’ favor. May they bless Kassandra Trevelyan as a member of Lion Claw Hold for as long as she shall live with eternal merriment, hunt, and freedom. She shall carry the blade and partake in the celebrations of our hold, one of us. She is our lady, our feminine guidance alongside Thane Rutherford. May I present Kassandra Divina Ariella “Lionheart” Trevelyan, Lady of Lion Claw Hold!” Cybele announced as she handed the chalice to Kassandra, hers to hold on to. She nodded to Kassandra, allowing her to usher her first edict or declaration as the lady of the Hold. Considered Thane Rutherford’s equal, her word carried the same weight, and her declarations would be heeded as his would. She was his second mouthpiece.

“To the skies!” Kassandra exclaimed, holding the chalice into the air and upside down to prove she emptied the inside as intended. The ritual called for every last drop to be evacuated from the round prison and given to the newest member of the hold, sanctifying their allegiance to their chosen clan.

“To the skies!” The tribe echoed Kassandra’s declaration with unabashed pride and encircled her within an embrace of bodies, ready to claim her into the sisterhood. The Avvar women considered their bonds tight-knit and cared for each other the way sisters would. Kass was now one of them, a joyous sight to include a new spirit into the hold was cause for rousing celebration. The women surrounded Kassandra and knelt before her, swearing fealty to their new sister, and Kass’s eyes flickered toward the sun, barely awake. The winds of change had come and gone, sweeping her away into the embrace of a new life.

Unbeknownst to the women of Lion Claw Hold, they were not alone. Not the trees, or the wind, or any of the creatures of the wild could warn them of the intruders hiding some distance away and out of sight. Three in total and marked with the paint belonging to Embrium Dragon Hold, the scouts laid eyes on the lovely Kassandra with interest. So, the rumors were true? Thane Rutherford adopted a lowlander as his bride, and she was unlike anything the Avvar had.

“Would you look at that? A lowlander wanting to become Avvar,” The first of the scouts remarked once they got their fill of staring at the collective of naked bodies and leering at the lowlander wrapped in ceremonial furs. Between the three scouts, there was a vibe of uncomfortable curiosity with an undercurrent of disgust to see a dismissal of Avvar culture by adopting a lowlander bride. Lowlanders were weak, spineless beings not made for the Avvar way. Avvar of Embrium Dragon Hold, as modeled by Thane Snowfallson, only saw minimal uses for lowlanders and most of them were degrading.

“Thane Snowfallson might be interested to hear about this Kassandra,” The second one commented, hushing their companion with a wave of his hand as to prevent being caught. Thane Snowfallson sent them to scout out weak points in the defenses of Lion Claw Hold, but the scouts believed they stumbled upon something much greater than that: Thane Rutherford’s weak point. Capturing his Chosen would be insult added to injury. “He has his Chosen, but the Thane did love a good concubine. Lowlanders make excellent ones if memory serves right. That and her features are quite striking. She would bear good, strong children for Thane Snowfallson.”

“I could see her splayed out at his feet, and perhaps the Thane might consider sharing with the rest of us,” The first one responded, which encouraged a laugh among them. Cruel intentions bred from lustful desires, and an unchecked entitlement was the most damning to Kassandra, unaware of the double-edged sword her newfound status came with. They would return to Thane Snowfallson with the good news and a suggestion he would be hard-pressed not to accept. With Kassandra as an Avvar, she was a free game in their culture’s rituals… which meant Thane Rutherford better sleep with one eye open before his Chosen vanished one night. 


	7. The Goddess of the Hunt

Kassandra was _troubled_.

Not by swearing her fealty to Lion Claw Hold until her dying breath or forsaking her former life so confidently, for she held no regrets. She meant what she said about starting over. No, it was the visions that rattled her and her faith so profoundly. Never had such images burned so vividly into her mind and some of her past fit the label of “traumatic.” She received a letter that detailed the grisly murder of her parents with sickening shamelessness when she barely turned twenty. Her eldest brother, Alek, vanished from the charter ship he was supposed to ride to negotiate a business deal for the family and never returned. Her uncle once attempted to sell her off to a man he owed money to like a common whore and only a threat to the man’s life kept her in Ostwick. Yet, nothing unsettled her as profoundly as several visions that she recalled in perfect detail over a week later.

She still heard the cawing of the pitch-black birds, taking off into the sky overhead with a lilting warning in their song. Their flight seemed orderly, not a bird out of place. Nature equaled chaos, so what did the structure mean?

She recalled the flash of glistening skin glowing under the soft kiss of firelight, hues of orange tinting the presence of sweat. Nothing about the scene identified anything more recognizable as the world around swirled as a blur of rich browns and the muted glow of fire defining the indefinable.

She ignored the burst of fear when considering the marching army, united under banners with Orlesian sigils and armor that eerily mirrored the chevaliers. Orlais’ fighting forces assembled when territory existed for them to conquer and not much else. If something should strike the Orlesian fancy, not much might stop them from acquiring it.

Finally, her peak of confusion rested with the two women of light and darkness standing beside the other. Their expressions conveyed the serene balance between the opposing influences and a stance of unity that baffled her. The woman of light cried out with the familiarity of stained-glass Chantry windows and murals painted by commissioned hands, an effigy to the namesake of her former religion. The woman of darkness knew no name in Kassandra’s heart, yet she beckoned her to come closer and explore the unknown with a call into the wilderness of her new life.

In her preoccupation with deciphering strange visions, Kassandra missed the sound of shuffling behind her as Cullen approached, as quiet as he could. From down below, he spotted his Chosen on her perch when her presence at the celebration was missed by himself and others. He noticed the blankness of her stare from where he and the others were celebrating the first successful hunt of the young men and women who came of age. The celebration fell annually as a symbol of the passage from childhood into adulthood by the hunters. The feast came from whatever game and other food collected, whether foraged berries or slain wild beasts. The hunt’s bounty acted as an offering to the gods for their blessing of new blood, sharp hunters to replace any lost through another year.

He seated himself in the space alongside his Chosen, seeing Kassandra neither move nor acknowledge his intrusion of her self-inflicted isolation. She hardly seemed to register anything from the cold of the night brushing against her bare arms to the hoots and hollers of the Avvar down below the ledge from which her legs swung.

“You seem perplexed, Kassandra,” Cullen remarked, which earned him Kassandra’s attention as he rarely called her by her name. Hearing him speak her name with such conviction, compared to gruffness or a twinge of annoyance, drew her from her thoughts.

“I am- Never mind, it is not of importance.” Kassandra shook her head, not wishing to delve too far into her concerns over the figments of her imagination. She had no proof that what she witnessed meant anything significant or if her mind desperately attempted to fill in the gaps of her rebirthing visit to the hot springs.

“It must be for you to miss out on the celebration,” Cullen insisted, not content with a non-answer or evasive falsehood. He dealt in painful truths, not pretty lies. He knew that nobility operated on a different code, but trusted that Kassandra preferred an honest dialogue, “What lies heavy on your mind?”

“More like questions that refuse to present clear answers. Now that you are here, however, I might resolve some of those questions.” Kassandra explained, still vague, and Cullen hummed with understanding. He glanced downward and out to the sight of the celebration, admiring how he could see across his territory. He was the lion of his pride, leading the way for his people.

“Ask away,” Cullen offered, willing to give her answers to what questions she held about him. He knew there had to be from the way she stared at him.

“Why did you choose me? You could have selected a woman of Avvar heritage, a decision which would likely cause less trouble than the frightened lowlander you captured intruding on your land.” Kassandra inquired, the burning curiosity of the question flinging from her tongue without her ability to stop herself. Her intent was not to sound ungrateful. She still did not understand what political gain she offered to Cullen or Lion Claw Hold since a marriage alliance with another tribe would seem more beneficial.

“I cannot describe how many times I heard that question from others of the Hold- What I told others during your initial days here? I relayed to them that Cybele presented me with an omen that I felt to mean you. Cybele described the arrival of a woman with fire in her eyes of blue and defiance that might border on impetuous. I paid little mind to it until we found you at the lake in your torn, muddied wedding gown. I suppose that people adamantly requested your removal or feeding to the hold beast, but I did not wish to turn you away if you turned out to be who the omen spoke of. It was when you stood before me in the throne room and audaciously spoke back without a shred of fear that I knew you were what the hold needed. Lion Claw Hold and I needed someone impressively headstrong, fearsome, and cunning to stand as my equal and by my side.” Cullen’s answer surprised her, somewhat. He glanced over and absorbed the flash of shock on her face. He brushed his fingers against the coarse stubble along his chin and jawline when considering his next question in their informative dialogue, “I never aim to question the will of the gods, but I cannot help asking what brought you to this land.”

“I came to Fereldan via boat as my new betrothed insisted we wed on his estate, tearing me from all I knew. Docking at Jader, the company I traveled with and I met a small crew of men. I assumed that my expectant betrothed paid them handsomely to ensure my safe arrival. No good nobleman would wish harm upon the bride he ordered for a hefty price, now would they? We saddled up on mounts and all seemed to proceed accordingly.” Kassandra recounted, but Cullen could tell something more to the story was awaiting him.

“Until something went wrong?” He interjected while he picked up a stray piece of flint between his fingers, admiring the jagged edge with a keen eye.

“Until something went wrong. One of my maids and the leader of the group started blabbing incessantly about the storm clouds overhead, I lost my temper, and then- everything happened at once. Lightning spooked the mount, bucking the other rider off while I gripped on for dear life. The poor horse bolted with me on its back and raced in an unknown direction as the rain came pouring down. Eventually, I fell off the horse and blacked out when the horse sprinted off into the distance. When I awoke, I aimlessly wandered until I found the lake. You know the rest.” Kassandra confirmed, and Cullen’s brows raised when taking in the harrowing tale of near-death and what sounded like unfortunate luck… or chosen divine intervention.

“Ah, I see. Tell me, do you miss your home?” Cullen felt the conversation turn down an inevitable path, but the tensing of Kassandra’s shoulders put him on edge. Something was not right, or perhaps he ambled directly into a painful memory. Instead of an immediate, defensive answer, Kassandra could not help the chuckle slipping through full pink lips or how hollow it felt to hear herself laugh.

“Yes, and no. Some of my homeland shaped me as a young girl into the woman I am, but I miss a version of Ostwick that no longer exists. I mourn the death of the place I called home and existed in a skeletal mockery of the happy home from my youth for years before I departed to become a purchased bride for a stranger across the sea. I was only twenty-three when I learned of my parents’ grisly death with details scant until the murderer tauntingly sent a letter. At twenty-four, my eldest brother Aleksander vanished and is believed by all to be dead. At twenty-five, I lost the last of my family in my other brother as his duty called him to fight in the Kirkwall Rebellion. The announcement of my arranged betrothal came on my twenty-sixth birthday, mere months ago. The Ostwick I knew died long ago when the old me perished with it in a pyre of tragedy.” Upon the bitter sting of Kassandra’s unexpected revelation, Cullen’s eyes softened, and he felt sorry for her. However, Kassandra hardly seemed the type to appreciate pity, let alone accept it from anyone.

“If anyone seemed deserving of a second lease on life, it would be you. So, why did you never try to run from here? There are human settlements and plenty of caravans that pass through the Frostback Basin through the season. You could have vanished one night when no one suspected, ran off into the night, stumbled upon some unassuming village, and started over.” Cullen prodded, flipping the tables to encompass a question of his curiosity. She seemed spirited, determined to fight her way out tooth and nail the day he and the hunting party discovered her in the woods with her muddied, torn wedding gown and blue eyes belonging to the stormy skies. Plenty of opportunities for her to escape captivity arose from the beginning to this moment, yet she stayed.

“That is the question, is it not? Where I am, right now, is the freest I have ever felt, and it is a paradox I cannot explain. I started as a prisoner and somehow, I am free, whereas I was a ‘free’ woman trapped in the gilded prison of nobility before I came. I did not belong to myself or hold power over my destiny. Here, I am in control of my life for once as strange as it must sound.” Kassandra quietly confessed as she still did not fully realize her paradoxical position or motivated her to stay beyond the surface. Freedom was grand, but she could have easily obtained freedom when starting over in some small village somewhere with a new identity. Perhaps she might never know what keeps her here, in Lion Claw Hold.

“Then, I shall continue to keep you free,” Cullen remarked with a sigh, and Kassandra dared to turn and face him. “Your willingness to stay and assist our hold earns you immeasurable goodwill among the people and they accept you as my Chosen. However, I see no reason to rush you into a union before you demonstrate readiness and consent. The place of Chosen is filled, and I shall not set a ceremony day until you give me permission, until you wish to marry me. Not a moment before that point shall I force your hand.”

“I- Thank you. I must admit that I appreciate your patience as forcing a union might come easier, yet you are willing to wait until I am properly acclimated to this political arrangement. Your interest and loyalty lie with providing for your people, and I respect that.” Kassandra explained, speaking freely and without hesitation. She meant what she said about Cullen and his people. From what little she witnessed of his decision-making, everything Cullen did seemed to express the best interest of his people’s survival. Duty and survival—the two things she knew well.

“I do not doubt it. I wish to show you that I am not as savage or barbaric as you might believe me to be.” Cullen’s comment nearly slipped past Kassandra, a whisper of teasing that came so casually, unusual for the stern and stoic man. Kassandra almost laughed when hearing the flicker of levity slipping into his voice, knowing he would shoo it away if he recognized it.

“I would not describe you or your people as savages, Cullen. I find Avvar society and customs to reflect a civilized, structured society that merely relishes a close connection to nature. The Avvar way of life is different than my upbringing, but not inferior to it. Truthfully, this way of life comes better received than some elements of noble society for me.” Kassandra corrected his assumption of her thoughts regarding the Avvar. Earlier on, she might have felt different than she did now. Experiencing kindness from the Avvar, acceptance by others, and respect from all changed her view. Her stay opened her eyes to see how amazing the Avvar were, how ingenious and strong they were as people.

“Ha, then perhaps I have succeeded.” Cullen allowed himself a rumbling chuckle, standing up from his seat along the cliff ledge. They were gone too long, and their people would start to take notice, “Come, I can guarantee the others have noticed us missing from such a joyful celebration.” He held out his hand to Kassandra, an offer of goodwill and newfound understanding. Their discussion to clear up past communications left a fresh, blank slate for proceeding. Kassandra started to consider her arrival to Lion Claw Hold as a blessing in disguise, which opened her heart. Things progressed when peace existed and so, she planned to co-exist and embrace her new life.

Kassandra reached out and grasped Cullen’s hand in hers, letting him help her onto her feet.

* * *

Sitting around the fire, she recognized several faces in Rylen, Quari, Cybele, Delrin, Persephone, and Farah, who were chattering. Surprising to see was Farah, smiling and participating in a conversation with Persephone animatedly. A good celebration brought out the best in everyone, she supposed.

“Ah, Thane Rutherford and Lady Trevelyan!” Cybele opened her arms with an excited greeting, drawing the attention of the others onto Cullen and Kassandra’s approach. Her elusive smile settled on Cullen and there happened to be a knowing twinkle in her eyes. “You are just in time for the stories to begin. If I recall correctly, our illustrious Thane owes us a tale after the last celebration where he dodged his turn.” Before any protest by Cullen might get attempted, several chimes of agreement echoed from his people and found himself outnumbered.

“I might consider partaking, so long as my Chosen does as well,” Cullen decided with a humph of reluctance, drawing Kass’ bemused expression that the others noticed and highlighting another surprise victory of Thane Rutherford’s. He possessed the creative tendency to worm his way out of story commitments when persuading others to occupy his time; he was never much of a storyteller.

“My lady, might you grace us with a story?” Rylen inquired, flashing a disarming grin when he settled an arm around Quari’s waist. Her cheeks blazed red when the contact occurred, and they brightened when Rylen scooted closer to her.

“You wish to hear a story?” Kassandra glanced over at Cullen, wondering what his ploy was. He shrugged diffidently, but his smirk said otherwise. She discreetly rolled her eyes and turned back to the eager faces watching her intently. “Very well. I supposed I can indulge a tale or two. I think I shall tell the story of how I won the Grand Tourney.”

“The Grand Tourney?” Persephone tilted her head to the side, and she represented the confusion plastered across the faces of the other Avvars as well. Kassandra forgot that the tournament was a regional thing, nearly pinching the bridge of her nose from her forgetfulness. She had to remember that her customs were not universal and that was something she needed to make a habit.

“Ah, right, semantics. The Grand Tourney is a week-long festival of martial skill and valor. Warriors from across the city-states of the Free Marches, the nation directly north of here across the Waking Sea, enter the tournament for glory, valor, and the prize of The Celebrant—a great sword inscribed with all the names of victors on the blade. There are battles, demonstrations of martial skill, vendors with food and drink and merchandise.” Kassandra explained and watched the eyes of those around the fire widen, exchanging glances with their neighbors or the person sitting across from them. Those who were not already seated around the fire and overheard the small snippet from Kassandra inched closer and approached the loose ring of people fixated on the story. Such a tournament sounded enthralling, especially to a people so honoring of the warrior as Avvars were.

“Aye, no idea that lowlanders’ eld warriors in such ‘igh esteem,” Farah commented, looking impressed and almost delighted to hear that fact. Her whole mood that evening contrasted from what Kassandra assumed of her yet felt natural enough that she might question if she read Farah all wrong.

“Mhmm, different regions have different considerations for warriors depending on the culture and where warriors fall on a given scale of social status. Warriors of high class or nobility are regarded as better than those who come from peasant or economically disadvantaged backgrounds, although there is no evidence supporting such a claim. Some cultures turn their noses up at warriors and consider them dogs to carry out their dirty work while others hold warriors in high esteem. But I digress, that is beyond the point.” Kassandra remarked, knowing that the Avvar did not wish for her to engage in a self-started discussion of the sociopolitical dynamics of warriorship in modern Theodosian culture. This was a campfire story, not a lecture in the halls of an Orlesian university and therefore, she should stick to the topic. “Many years ago, when I barely reached the age of eighteen, the guidance of fate would encourage me to undertake the Grand Tourney. However, there were some barriers to entry standing in my way, namely my family and some of their close-minded opinions regarding where a woman did and did not belong.” Kassandra wistfully recounted and with all eyes on her, she had complete command of the room for her tale.

_Dinner parties, commonly known as a Trevelyan family pastime._

_Kassandra never understood her family’s proclivity for annual get-togethers that seemed to repeat themselves: dinner, dancing, and the typical backstabbing of a noble court. Beyond those of varying levels of Trevelyan blood, the Teyrn of Ostwick and other high-ranking politicians joined the celebrations hosted by her father at Trevelyan estate. The cliffside home, overlooking the gorgeous waters on a summer night, became filled with laughter and merrymaking—fueled by good food and wine flowing from casks reserved for the most honorable occasions._

_Kassandra elegantly floated between conversations, earning praising compliments from passersby when noticing her breathtaking dress. Petal pink and applique flowers adorned her body, and she felt like a goddess of spring. Her presence in the ballroom of her family’s estate attracted eyes from those in attendance, a fact Kassandra lived throughout her adolescence. She was the only daughter of Bann Trevelyan and the most beloved of the Trevelyan women. ‘The Jewel of Ostwick,’ they called her in admiration and some in lust like she was a prize to be won. No shortage of marriage offers and proposals to be found, especially for a young woman reaching the first inklings of adulthood._

_Kassandra shared polite, practiced smiles when gracefully gliding across the room with a chalice of wine in hand, determined to make herself look busy. She spotted her mother and father, Aurora and Hugo Trevelyan, speaking jovially with Teryn Maldwyne. The senile old man smiled and nodded along, his mind clearly fading in his later years. She was surprised to see him unaccompanied, used to his wife or his wife’s daughter standing by his side and steering the conversations on his behalf._

_Seeing no qualms about inserting herself into the conversation, she quickened her pace and caught the eye of the Teyrn as she approached. His expression brightened when taking her in, and she prayed to Andraste that his reasoning laid somewhere more benign than she is young and beautiful. Her parents noticed the shift, and they too brightened when seeing their daughter’s approach; she was their pride and joy._

_“Lady Kassandra, a pleasure to have you join us!” Teryn Maldwyne cooed when Kassandra settled herself at her mother’s left, deferring the position of honor to her parents._

_“It is my pleasure, Teryn,” She smiled politely and gave a curtsy. Before she could get another word in edgewise, the sight of another approaching quickly soured the mood for her. A dark mop of hair, a greying beard, and a pair of grey-blue eyes with no kindness in them joined them, making up the demon that was her Uncle Florence Trevelyan._

_“Ah, there you are, Teyrn Maldwyne. I wished to resume our earlier conversation. What am I interrupting?” Florence smoothly inserted himself into the conversation, standing across from his niece with a sneer. He spent the last hour or so calming down his daughter, Iva, who held a childish tantrum because the young man escorting her that evening remarked that Kassandra was fairer than she. Therefore, Florence had little kindness reserved for his meddlesome, attention-stealing niece._

_“We were simply discussing the Grand Tourney. Ostwick shall host the tournament this year in Justinian.” Aurora gently explained, never raising her voice or showing the contempt she felt when speaking to Florence. That man made her skin crawl and she could never explain why._

_“Yes. I was speaking with the Bann about some whispers I overheard. Allegedly, the Vaughns wish one of their sons—I forgot the lad’s name—to enter the tournament. I tried to watch the boy spar but found myself bored. However, rumor mentions that one of Ostwick’s greatest swordsmen is an undisclosed member of House Trevelyan. Might we see one of your lads entering the Grand Tourney?” When Teyrn Maldwyne spoke of a swordsman within the Trevelyan family, neither Hugo nor Aurora could keep their eyes from darting over to their daughter. Kassandra appeared on the verge of doubling over in laughter but kept it reigned in. She guessed the Teyrn meant “swordswoman.”_

_“Ah, yes! I consider potentially accepting a bid to enter the Tourney-” Kassandra declared, wearing a winning smile and her eyes sparkling bright with genuine interest. The offer would come through the proper channels, and she would be willing to duel anyone opposed to her entry._

_“You?” Florence’s jarring bout of laughter uncomfortably interrupted the conversation, causing Kassandra’s jaw to involuntarily clench and appeared thoroughly entertained with the notion of Kassandra fighting. Kassandra curbed back the disgruntled sneer at the reaction, feeling his laugh to be an ugly sound befitting of punishment and nothing more. “You think you are capable of fighting in the Grand Tourney?”_

_“Florence-” Hugo curtly snapped while Aurora silently glared daggers at him, neither of them finding his response inappropriate and crude._

_“Yes, what about it?” Kassandra calmly replied, keeping her fury in check and on a tight chain behind the painted mask of perfection. She held plenty of snide replies on a trebuchet called her tongue but knew when to use her sarcasm sharpened daggers against an opponent. Tipping her hand would be an amateur mistake._

_“Let me give you a piece of advice, Kassandra. That tournament has rarely crowned a woman victor and with good reason, women were not meant to compete with men. They are physically inferior in strength-” Florence’s lecture would hardly stop her and such outdated, archaic thinking merely amused Kassandra. He honestly did not think her that stupid to believe him? She defeated many men in their games of strength by using her smarts or agility or underestimating opinions._

_“Strength is not all that matters in a fight, dear Uncle.” The ‘dear’ screamed with expertly leveled sarcasm, veiled behind a smile. Lost on Teyrn Maldwyne, the Trevelyan clan warred amongst each other with Kassandra and her parents against the monster who called himself family._

_“If you know what is best for you, Kassandra, you will give up on such a foolish idea.” Florence remarked with a smile of his own, but Kassandra’s eyes met his and in them she saw nothing but darkness. She knew a threat when she heard it, and she would not put it past Florence Trevelyan to purchase a contracted assassination on her life. She excused herself, not sure what she said between the anger roaring on in her ears and glided away to feel her uncle’s sneer boring into her back. Oh, how tempting slitting her uncle’s throat open sounded about then, the manipulative bastard-_

“So, your uncle essentially threatened you over it? Does the man have bollocks for brains, my lady?” Rylen questioned brashly, figuring that anyone who witnessed her skills as a swordswoman could support such an ambition to participate in the tournament. Kassandra sadly shook her head, glancing into the fire. Although the description of her uncle was somewhat accurate as to his cruelty and his lack of cognizant recognition of her worth, he was ultimately beside the point.

“That is a kinder description that I would give him. My uncle extorted people all the time. What would stop him from threatening a young woman if he believed he could get away with it and suffer no consequences? Men like him are no anomaly to nobility or positions of high social status,” Kassandra informed nonchalantly, accustomed to the callous scheming of her uncle. No noble lineage was complete without one backstabbing snake that fairly earned a place at the gallows, and her uncle proudly accepted his claim as such within the Trevelyan family. “The subject ended up forgotten when the conversation shifted at dinner, but I refused to let it go. Nothing needled at me more than my uncle, a man who never picked up a sword in his life, dictating what I could and could not do.”

“So, what did you do?” Cullen questioned from Kassandra’s side, drawing her eyes onto him. She did not expect him to chime in as he tended to remain a silent observer of the festivities. At least, that was the impression she got from past examples. She did not mind the inclusion of Cullen’s participation; she immensely enjoyed it.

“I did what any normal person would: lied to my family and entered the tournament under an alias.” Kass shared, earning a rousing wave of surprised laughter from the Avvar. She smirked and clasped her hands together, dropping her eyes toward the roaring fire where embers rose and licked the night sky in tiny blossoms of orange.

_The first morning of the Grand Tourney, held in the peak of the warm Justinian days, arrived without further incident. The Trevelyan family arrived early to the capital’s arena, dressed in their finest attire, and admiring the celebratory cheers of fellow Tourney-goers. The family planned to occupy several boxes with Bann Hugo, Aurora, and her two brothers seated with Teyrn Maldwyne, much to the chagrin of Florence._

_However, Kassandra’s missing presence would raise eyebrows if not for her meticulously planned excuse. She told her family, in a public setting, that she planned on visiting a nearby Chantry in Starkhaven and going on a spiritual retreat. None of her family questioned it, giving Kassandra the perfect alibi for her missing presence. That left her free to enter the tournament under an alias and disguise, making her plan full proof._

_Dressed in full silver armor, Kassandra confidently pushed open the door to the local tavern and inn where the competitors would be staying. In her hand, she had the paperwork for a bid that she got through the proper channels and held onto in secret. She planned this far enough in advanced and used favors to gain entry. She sauntered up to a table marked for the competitors and slid her summons to the elven woman sitting at the table._

_“Oh! Thank you, ser- er, is it, sir?” She squeaked out, and Kassandra silently nodded, figuring that pretending to be a man would raise fewer suspicions. That, and opponents would underestimate her since she was slender and on the shorter side._

_“The name is blank. May I get your name?” To that, Kassandra shook her head and tapped at her throat, indicating that she could not speak for some reason. She made a vow of silence during the process to the best of her ability, figuring that not hearing a soft or feminine voice would keep up the charade. The woman at the desk frowned and she wanted to say that fifty individuals were participating, meaning she needed a name for those in charge._

_“What should the Master of Ceremonies call you, then?” The elven woman inquired, seemingly unnerved by the mute warrior dressed in full armor before her. Kassandra gestured for the quill, ink, and parchment with the names and the elf complied, not wanting to earn the stranger’s wrath. Kassandra leaned forward and wrote down a name, the first one that popped into her mind. She needed a name that might stand out among the other forty-nine competitors. When she finished, she pushed the parchment back, paid the fee, and accepted the key._

_The Herald of Andraste, but Herald is fair._

“Standing between you and victory, forty-nine others… I cannot imagine what you felt when staring down those odds.” Delrin whispered, shaking his head while he stared into the fire. He experienced the heat of battle before, a messy collision of swords and bodies with a justified end from both sides. However, something about knowing the struggles awaiting and the open space for nerves to form did not sit well with him.

“Were you afraid?” Cybele questioned, whispery and wide-eyed, and Kassandra realized how frequently she spoke with an aura of mysticism outside of rituals. She seemed perpetually pensive and consumed by what the eye might not see. Rylen snorted from across the fire.

“What would she be afraid of? The worst she could do is lose?” He questioned, uncertain of what to fear in a loss. Any good warrior understood that losses, in specific contexts, served as learning experiences. From what he gleaned, this Tourney might frown upon the death of a competitor. Therefore, mortal danger did not exist, and no peril would occur.

“She ran the risk of getting exposed or outed should she lose a duel,” [Cullen spoke up and Kassandra nodded, acutely aware that the blissfully ignorant eyes of her family on her frightened her more than competing against any of her forty-nine other opponents.

“Truthfully, I was petrified. I figured that through hindsight as, in the moment, I subsisted on the emboldening influence of anger. The decision I made came as me, determined to prove my worth in the arena. Anger served a purpose, so I latched onto it. Every fight saw me storm into the arena with not a lick of fear to be had inside my heart. Fear was a weakness; I had no use for it.” Kassandra confessed, earning her more than a few grunts and nods from her audience. Fear could serve a warrior well, or it might become their downfall, a choice for them to make whether they wished to survive or not. She continued, “The first night or so saw the competitors tucked away in an inn, rented for the fighters through the duration of the Tourney. The celebration and physical tournament lasted around a week, which would turn out to be of the most challenging experiences of my entire life-”

_The first day of the tournament saw the arena seats packed to capacity. All fifty competitors were herded out onto the sandy floor of the arena, observed by the cheering spectators. The ceremony started with a lofty speech from the host leader, which would come from Teyrn Maldwyne. He (and his wife) made sure to keep it quick and straightforward to keep the crowd happy. The ceremony proceeded as planned with introductions and riling up the crowd._

_“The Herald from Ostwick!” The Master of Ceremonies announced, and confusion mixed in with the cheers when Kassandra, hidden behind full armor, stepped up and waved to the crowd. No one recognized the name and since no one could see the face, the identity of this “Herald” was a mystery. Kassandra intended it to stay that way._

_The tournament’s first day would be dedicated to dividing the competition into half, turning fifty into twenty-five before the sun set on the western horizon. Kassandra hoped she might get to strategize, size up her opponents better than the cursory judgments made during the introductions, but that would not come to pass. Her name was selected by lot first, as the matches were decided by fate, and she groaned. She walked forward and heard her opponent’s name called out: Golok Vaughn of Ostwick._

_She recognized the name. The Vaughns were another noble family in Ostwick and the Teyrn mentioned that one of their kin planned to make a name for himself. There he was, she supposed. She hid a scoff when he strolled out of the line and the rest of the competitors dispersed for the inside of the arena, leaving the two warriors alone to fight. Only one might emerge victorious._

_Kassandra drew her sword and shield, demonstrating her preparedness to battle. She expected the same from Golok, which came at a delayed pace. He drew his sword, which signaled the start of the match, but he lifted his arms and glanced at the crowd._

_“People of Ostwick, prepare for a battle of likes which you have never seen-” Growing tired of his talking, Kassandra lunged forward and entered close-quarters before he could react. She planned on using his underestimation to her advantage. She tangled their sword arms and rendered their weapons useless, earning some gasps from the audience. With a flick of her elbow, she slammed her shield directly into his nose hard. The crunch sound echoed, and the audience moaned in sympathy yet delighted engagement. Kassandra hooked her ankle around his heel and swept out his leg, taking him down to the ground. The awestruck crowd witnessed Kassandra stop her armored boot against the fallen Golok’s chest and demonstrated an effective takedown in under two minutes. A horn echoed, and the match was called for Kassandra._

_Just who was this mystery warrior of Ostwick, hidden behind the mask?_

_Kassandra nonchalantly walked out of the arena to the stunned silence of the onlookers, knowing she proved her point that she belonged on the battlefield. She ducked through the gate while the flustered Master of Ceremonies went to declare the next match, already tuning him out. She entered the hollowed-out area that gave her the slightest suspicion that it was intended to be a dungeon and assumed she could meditate. Most of the warriors eyed her warily but stayed out of her way._

_However, any peace she hoped to find vanished when she caught sight of a weaselly-looking man leering over a blonde, pretty woman who Kassandra saw in the warrior line. Her face showed overt discomfort, but the man persisted in invading her space, drawing ire from Kassandra._

_“Come on, little lady. Would it kill you to smile?” The man questioned the woman, trying to sound suave or seductive and failing miserably._

_“I asked you to leave me alone-” She protested, jerking her arm free. Kassandra narrowed her eyes when she noticed the weaselly bastard refused to comply and leaned toward the clearly uncomfortable woman. Cloaked in armor, Kassandra felt much safer to do something and decided not to let that go unpunished._

_Whatever the brute planned to say would never be known as he dared to inch his hand toward the woman and nearly got one of his fingers severed by a dagger. He jolted back to see Kassandra taking a seat next to the woman, her hand holding a dagger she newly impaled through the table. The message was clear: keep bothering the lady, you lose a finger or worse. The man and his cronies scampered off, having heard the swift defeat from inside the arena._

_“Thank you.” The woman sighed. Then, she recognized Kassandra. She held her hand out to her in a warm greeting, “You must be The Herald! I am Arabella of Starkhaven.” Kassandra mutely nodded and shook her hand, a sign of equal respect back. Arabella did not know it, but she smiled under the protection of her armor._

“Ha! Taught ’em, did it not?” Farah’s bark of laughter pierced above the other snickers from the crowd, steadily growing with each intermission during Kassandra’s story. The way she spoke engaged all in earshot to listen to her tale of glory, harrowing battles, and martial skill.

“Establishing myself as someone to steer clear of worked in my favor. Fewer questions that way, and I earned respect from some of my competitors. Others did not like me very much, but I hardly cared what they thought of me. I was there to win.” Kassandra remarked, only displaying amusement with the upward curve of her lips into a pointed smirk. “At that point, the number of competitors got slashed in half from fifty to twenty-five. Then, during dinner, one of the competitors loudly announced their withdrawal from the tournament and culled the numbers into an even twenty-four for day two.”

_Standing behind the iron-wrought gates of the arena, Kassandra held the bridle of a mount in one hand and a wooden lance in the other. Her replacement shield rested on her back, gleaming in the low light of the darkened tunnel._

_She had completed another battle no longer than an hour before, her lot pulled against a hulking, axe-wielding man from Nevarra with the stunning fashion choice of a belt made from animal bones. Lackluster fashion aside, she effectively ended the battle when she disarmed her opponent with the most hilarious of coincidences. His axe blade lodged into her borrowed shield and got stuck, leaving him helpless when she tossed her shield across the arena and pressed her blade into his neck._

_The crowd went wild with cheers and she was escorted back into the waiting, the crowned victor of the fight. She earned her place among the top twelve fighters from across the Free Marches. So, her next challenge would be a jousting match. She had never jousted before, but Arabella granted her a few tricks that she learned while exploring Orlais._

_“Announcing the next display! A jousting match between Laius of Wycome and The Herald of Ostwick!” The Master of Ceremonies bellowed, and the arena erupted into shouting as the gate creaked open. Kassandra sighed when approaching her mount. She launched herself up onto the saddle, using her foot in her stirrup. She comfortably settled herself into position while adjusting the lance in her right hand. She clicked her tongue and her mount strolled through the gates, revealing her to the wild crowd. She gave a cheeky wave, knowing the boost in confidence would not hurt._

_Across from her, a lithe and bearded man from Wycome rode out on his horse with a lance of his own but abandoning a shield to keep better control of his mount. That was his first mistake—going up against an expert rider in Kassandra. His second mistake—having the hubris to not bring a shield. Laius and Kassandra lined up across from each other and waited for the horn to sound. On a moment’s whim, she switched the hands of her lance and shield to the non-dominant and dominant hand. She grabbed the reins with her left, for she had a plan._

_The horn sounded, and the joust began._

_When thundering toward Laius, Kassandra tightened her thighs’ grip around the horse, leaned back slightly, and threw her shield between her and the oncoming lance. Switching her hands meant the shield covered her and the force of the shield meets the lance, shattered the wood and sent Laius tumbling from his mount. His back hit the sand and the crowd roared, signaling a victory for Kassandra. She grinned and raised her lance to the sky, playing on her titular connection to Andraste and drumming up support from the audience._

“Jousting? That is a- interesting choice.” Delrin coughed, likely thinking of a far different term to describe the chosen “skill” on display. Fighting on horseback tended to be tedious and put the horse into danger, which is why Kassandra avoided doing it.

“Jousting seemed more like a chevalier tradition, something in their wheelhouse so they can feel good about themselves and show-off. None of the ones attending the tournament made the best impression of me.” Kassandra muttered sarcastically, earning a few side-eyes from those in the crowd. She seemed to detest Orlais, which earned more respect for her. “But I survived another day and prepared to fight in the morning. The lot grew smaller by the day and twelve of us remained for the title.”

_The third day arrived, and Kassandra’s name got called during the middle of the fights and she sauntered into the arena with her sword and shield unsheathed in preparation. She tried not to smile when the cheers rang out, getting ahead of herself. She could bask in the attention once she won her combat trial._

_“Competing against the Herald, Arabella of Starkhaven.” The Master of Ceremonies announced and Kassandra narrowly avoided cursing. Bollocks- She would have to fight the only person in this tournament she would not mind winning, beside her. She heard the gate open and watched the saddening sight of Arabella, who appeared as disappointed as she felt, approach. The two women looked at each other as friends for the last time; they were opponents now._

_“I am sorry I have to do this,” Arabella remarked when drawing her sword, earning a nod from Kassandra in agreement. The two women launched at each other in a fury of sword strikes and parries, their instant charging energizing the crowd. They seemed on an even keel with strength with Kassandra only a tiny bit faster. Minutes dragged by so slowly and the crowd never lost their enthusiasm as the two swordswomen clashed over and over. Kassandra knew she needed something to throw Arabella’s focus off, which would provide an exact way to engineer victory. She had a risky idea-_

_“I am sorry too,” Kassandra admitted, and the sound of her voice caused Arabella to freeze, which Kassandra capitalized on. She used the blunt end of her sword to knock Arabella off her feet and her back hit the arena’s sand. The audience oooohed when Kassandra pressed the tip of her blade against Arabella’s jugular, winning the fight. Kassandra expected Arabella to be upset for being deceived, but she seemed far from judging by the impressed expression._

_“Now I have someone to root for,” Arabella whispered with the hint of a smile and Kassandra, pulling her sword back, offered a hand to help Arabella up. She earned it after a hard-fought battle._

“Ah, nothing gets me happier than a good fight,” Rylen grinned, coyly flexing his arm to show off his muscles and earning a small rouse of laughter from those around. Leave it to Rylen to be a showman during a bonfire. Quari lifted her head from where it rested against Rylen’s broad shoulder and she studied everything under an intelligent eye.

“Your friend seemed gracious about the whole ordeal- I appreciated that sense of comradery.” Quari chimed in for the first time that evening, but Kassandra did notice her intrigued expression throughout the tale. That indicating she was fully engaged in the conversation without needing a word. She seemed more of a listener than a talker, which suited Kassandra fine.

“She was. I did not see her from then on as the defeated warriors were moved to the audience or allowed to head home.” Kassandra agreed, regretting that she could no longer indulge in her friend’s company by defeating her. The sweetened taste of victory over Florence tempted her like a desire demon, whispering in her ear to leave the battlefield riddled with the broken bodies of her opponents to make a point.

“So, if I recall correctly, the last round of fights commenced around twelve competitors, meaning that only six remain—including you. Five individuals stand between you and proving your honor.” Persephone explained, perking up excitedly when Kassandra confirmed via nod. She slipped her hands into Farah’s, squeezing them to temper her jolt of enthusiastic questions. Farah grinned wider. 

“Aye, ye getting close to winnin’,” Farah cheered, her accent thickening when she babbled or got excited. She seemed to be doing both that evening. 

“I suspect the challenges became harder with fewer opponents?” Cullen rhetorically questioned, making it clear he knew that the intensity increased when the number of people standing between a competitor and the title. People operated on a predictable level.

“Well, yes and no. As six competitors remained, those in charge wished to narrow us down into two finalists. The way that worked was a standard battle that eliminated half to three. From there, the marital test would accept the two with the best record as the finalist to fight on the final day. However, there seemed to be some favoritism as the man who would become my final opponent earned an exemption from the martial challenge: a wrestling match.”

_Kassandra felt fury like no other. She successfully defeated her last opponent, an Orlesian Chevalier, in one-on-one combat—making her among the final three in the competition. She represented Ostwick, while her opponents were Nevarra and Markham, respectively. However, a bombshell announcement came from the Master of Ceremonies that earned reasonable ire from herself and the crowd: one of her opponents was given a guaranteed spot in the final battle without attempting the fight. That meant only one place left for her and she would need to fight to the death for it._

_Kassandra stared down her opponent, the man from Markham, whose name she forgot. She hardly focused on the people she competed with or against, as most of them were forgettable. He cracked his knuckles and lunged with Kassandra meeting him halfway, the two grapple with each other. Kassandra hated wrestling and planned to tire her opponent out, which meant putting distance. So, she leveraged some strength and shoved him backward, watching how he nearly stumbled over himself when attempting to regain his footing._

_She recalled a move that her brothers did during her childhood when they wrestled in the grass, and she figured she had nothing to lose. As her opponent charged at her, she squatted down low and grappled for their midsection. Using their weight against them, she slammed her pauldroned shoulder up into their stomach and tossed him over her shoulder when he crumpled lifelessly. Her opponent hit the sand and she planted her boot on his back, ensuring a unanimous victory for her. The audience roared and she watched with pride as her fellow countrymen cheered for her success. She brought Ostwick one step closer to honor._

_Given the pass to retire for the evening to rest before the championship fight the next day, Kassandra saluted to the crowd and jogged into the arena. She barely ducked through the gate before an enormous mass pinned her up against the wall, earning a muffled grunt she hoped to hide under the clang of armor. It did not take much to guess who assaulted her: Tiberius of Nevarra, her final opponent._

_“I hope you are prepared for me to crush you. No one has ever defeated me in one-on-one and I shall bring Nevarra a crowning glory in the Celebrant. You might as well spare yourself suffering and forfeit now.” Tiberius snarled and lumbered over Kassandra, easily twice her size. If Tiberius expected a flinch or a sign of fear, he would be quite disappointed. Kassandra said nothing, of course, and she shouldered past him when walking toward the exit. She glanced over her shoulder and took in his heated glare. He might run his mouth off, but they would prove who had the mettle in the arena._

“What a lowlife,” Persephone murmured disapprovingly at the cowardly tactics used by Tiberius against Kassandra. She thought this tournament represented the most honorable warriors but supposed that thugs, crooks, and generally unsavory characters might slip their way into the festivities. 

“He expected a tough fight, no? It sounded like he wished to intimidate you before entering the arena.” Delrin mused, maintaining a calm expression and his rational mind. A man like Tiberius leaned heavily on imposing stature and therefore, a woman like Kassandra got under his skin. She demonstrated skill beyond physical fear and that earned her favor with the odds.

“He obviously did not pay enough attention to know that Kassandra was doing all the scaring around there.” Rylen snorted, seeing that Kassandra did not scare easily. She hardly got scared of the hunting party that found her in the woods from what he learned. She did terrify him, though, only a little.

“I think so. However, no force would have scared me off when victory was one battle away. Tiberius would need to defeat me outright to earn the title of Champion, and I was far from done.”

_The fifth day came, and Kassandra rose with the sun; she was too anxious to sleep through the morning. The greater part of her evening got lost to strategizing for the best way to defeat Tiberius. As much as it pained her to admit it, she had no idea how to proceed. From what she knew, Tiberius over-relied on pure strength but fought erratically and unpredictably._

_She spent the morning preparing for her fight, praying, and strategizing—she had come so close, too close to give up. So, she planned on fighting with her all._

_She could sense the electric energy of the audience through the iron gate and when her name got called, Kassandra walked through with her weapons drawn and the audience greeted her with cheers, much louder than Tiberius’ when he exited. Clearly, she held the heart of the audience. Would that be enough?_

_“I warned you,” Tiberius growled when hefting his war hammer onto his shoulders and cracking his neck. Kassandra located her dagger attached to her sheath as a last resort weapon should she need a distraction. The horn barely sounded before Tiberius started swinging with reckless abandon and pushed Kassandra onto the defensive. If she were not so agile or wearing lightweight armor, Tiberius likely would have taken her head clean off her shoulders. She knew he held no qualms with disabling or breaking his opponents and therefore, she needed to adopt the same ground rules. She would fight to hurt, to maim, and hopefully not to kill._

_After giving chase while Tiberius rampaged on in blind rage, Kassandra knew her momentum to shift the battle decreased with each step she ran. She considered it time for a last-ditch effort to stand and fight, one that suggested the riskiest plan she ever trusted: she stopped running. She turned around and threw her shield and sword at Tiberius’ feet. He stopped his crusade and began to laugh._

_“You gave in too easily!” He bellowed and brought the war hammer down, missing how Kassandra rolled to the side and narrowly dodged the blunt force. She popped onto her feet and pulled the dagger from its sheath, blessing it with a prayer. She pulled her arm back and flung the throwing dagger with all her might. Like it was guided by a divine hand, the blade impaled itself into the flesh of Tiberius’ eye. He recoiled backward and roared, blinded and in pain. He went to cover his eyes, allowing Kassandra to race forward and snatch her sword up. The crowd started freaking out when they realized what she did to gain the advantage, thrilled by the ingenuity._

_Kassandra slid between Tiberius’ legs and brandished her sword before sinking it into one of his calves. The blade forced Tiberius to take a knee while struggling to regain his sight, but Kassandra had no interest in delaying this any longer. She whirled around and pressed her sword up against his neck, leaving him in an impossible position to retaliate or fight back. He had no choice to surrender, a fate worse than death for him._

_“It is a shame, really, but your hubris will be what kills you one day.” Kassandra snarled and felt his shoulders tense when hearing the unmistakable accent of a woman speaking back to him. He fancied himself an unvanquished warrior no longer. She let go of him and kicked him in the back; that was for threatening her yesterday. The horn sounded and that flooded Kassandra’s mind with relief._

_She won! She won the Grand Tourney!_

_“The_ _Herald has won the Grand Tourney!” The Master of Ceremonies bellowed, somehow able to broadcast over the noise of the arena. Tiberius limped away with assistance to lick his wounds and nurse the broken pride that Kassandra shattered over her armored knee. The Master of Ceremonies descended the stairs with the famed prize in hand and presented it to Kassandra. “Good ser, please accept a token of victory in the Celebrant! We shall have your name etched into the blade for all posterity to know your greatness as Tourney Champion!” The Master of Ceremonies held the Celebrant out to Kassandra, and she smiled, figuring this was as good a time as any to reveal what name they should put onto the sword._

_“Good ser, I believe you mean ‘fair lady’!” Kassandra exclaimed when she removed her helmet, revealing her face and shaking out her brunette hair. A startled gasp raged across the crowd, and Kassandra pointed into the boxes that held her family. The blissful glee hitting her when she watched Florence ripple through several shades of red and purple in his rage. Her parents and brothers appeared shocked to see her down in the arena, less than her skills with the sword._

_All Ostwick citizens stared into the arena to see the face of one of their most beloved, fairest maidens as the mysterious yet skilled Herald, winner of the Grand Tournament. Ostwick had not won in years and never held a woman victor. Silence prevailed where cheering once reigned, leaving the crowd to process the shocking revelation. Lady Kassandra Divina Ariella Trevelyan, the Jewel of Ostwick, proved herself to be the greatest warrior in the Free Marches._

_From their box, Theodore and Aleksander Trevelyan stood onto their feet and, as loud as they could, started whooping and cheering. That was their sister, who outlasted every other warrior and brought glory onto the Trevelyan name. Her parents rose from their seats and started cheering too. Then Teyrn Maldwyne clapped excitedly, and that seemed to rouse the crowd into action. Roars echoed down into the arena while Kassandra stood under the deafening touch of a standing ovation, causing her to smile. She bowed and graciously accepted the Celebrant from the Master of Ceremonies, knowing that her real name would adorn the blade._

_Kassandra swore that she would donate the prize money to a city renovation project as she wanted the sword and the prestige more than anything. Little did she realize how greatly her life might change from that moment, unaware that her marriage prospects would double. Much to the ire of Florence, Kassandra effectively proved that women were made to be warriors, and she stood proud among them._

“…And that was how I won the Grand Tourney.” Kass declared, earning a rousing cheer from the crowd surrounding her. Throughout her tale, the celebrating Avvar silenced as more upon more of them joined into the conversation Lady Kassandra shared. Engrossed by her masterful storytelling—a skill she learned from Varric—and the story surrounding her feat, Kassandra managed to mystify Lion Claw Hold once again. Her adaptability endeared her to those who were open to newcomers and those who clung to skepticism, finding it harder to dislike her.

“Well done, my lady!” Delrin complimented and clapped his hands, thrilled from the story and its outcome. Kassandra relished in the praise.

“You must tell another!” Persephone pleaded hopefully and several others chimed in with their agreement, inciting more confirming nods. Kassandra narrowed her eyes at Cullen, who appeared relieved that the focus stayed off him. She figured out his angle. Before she could point out that their illustrious Thane had yet to fulfill the promise of his story or agree to another tale, two harried guards arrived at the fire with spooked expressions. Their appearance sullied the celebratory mood as Cullen rose to his full height, solemnly waiting for a status report.

“Thane Rutherford, several soldiers from Embrium Dragon Hold were spotted approaching the gates. They appear to be unarmed but are too far to accurately assess.” The message seemed ill-received by Cullen or any of the hold for that matter. With any luck, the impunity of Embrium Dragon Hold ended tonight, and Cullen hoped he would not need to send back mangled bodies or ones missing a few odd pieces.

However, when was he ever so lucky?

“Take me to the gates, at once. I refuse to let this display of disrespect continue any further-” Cullen growled out, undeniably infuriated with the news. With great reason, seeing as Embrium Dragon Hold postured and flaunted their strength gratuitously to demonstrate their willingness to start a conflict. He planned on meeting these intruders at the gate, investigate their intentions, and pray that he might avoid bloodshed on this evening.

At his command, Kassandra lurched to her feet and those in the hold turned to her. Her face hardened in determination; her practiced mask reserved for political sparring seamlessly transferring on. She suspected that Cullen was hiding something from her and from that revelation, realized that Embrium Dragon Hold continued to push their limits. She was not content to sit back and not perform her role any longer.

“I am accompanying you,” Kassandra declared, earning Cullen to glance back her way with a million reasons at the ready to dissuade her, but none would work. She raised her hand, silencing him. “No protests.” Her firm refusal to submit told Cullen that she would go nowhere unless she came along. So, he sighed and waved her to his side. Together, he and Kassandra traveled behind the guards who warned them and reached the gates as the small gaggle of soldiers, four in total, arrived. The armed guards held out their spears, keeping the intruders from stepping across the entrance and from instigating a fight they would undoubtedly lose.

“State your purpose here, before I decide to feed your battered bodies to the wolves,” Cullen demanded of the four Embrium Dragon Hold, waiting for any of them to speak. Tense silence built a barrier between Lion Claw Hold and Embrium Dragon Hold.

“We come on behalf of Thane Snowfallson to relay a message to you, Thane Rutherford. Our leader wishes to hold an audience with you and… your lowlander ‘pet.’” They explained with the hint of choked snickers and their reaction summoned fury in equal measure from Kassandra and Cullen. Those of Lion Claw Hold observing the scene nervously shifted when glancing between a rigid Cullen and Kassandra. She appeared seconds away from turning into a feral wolf and shredding these men before her into bits.

“I am no one’s pet,” Kassandra growled feistily, and she stepped forward, eyes glinting with the sharpness of a bloodstained blade. She did not have weapons on her persons, but she considered herself a threat with or without. She wielded her words like weapons; they were just as deadly, and no one would see them coming. Cullen placed his hand on her shoulder and firmly guided him back to his side, not wishing to see these enemies mauled so quickly or for them to raise their hands against his Chosen.

“I would advise you to watch your tongues before something unfortunate should befall you. Your leader does not decide what goes on in my hold. I do,” Cullen prompted, and he glanced between the soldiers, mostly unimpressed with their brashness. He reserved his anger for their leader, Thane Baelr Snowfallson, as he deliberately sent his men to antagonize the people of Lion Claw Hold. He clenched his jaw and that spooked a few of the soldiers standing under his glare. He continued, voice rife with disgust, “Let this serve as a warning. I shall hear out your leader’s rationale for why he believes he may act with impunity against my people and me. This meeting shall serve as my final warning before retaliation becomes warranted.”


	8. Under the Blood Eclipse

A night of celebration cut tragically short, Cullen and Kassandra prepared themselves to convene a meeting with Thane Baelr Snowfallson. The night hours passed torturously slow, grating on Cullen’s patience. Kassandra could tell as his refusal to come to bed. She wrestled with fickle sleep, consistently waking in a cold bed and suffering from anxiety occupying space in her head to the dull pangs of her heart. She attempted many remedies to steady herself and tried to lose herself when standing outside under the oddly dark red moon. Alas, all efforts were for naught.

Nothing good would come of this meeting with Thane Snowfallson, and she never doubted her gut instincts before this incident. She knew she should have pushed harder on what Cullen did or did not know, but there was no use in lamenting about the past. What she and Cullen needed now was for her to maintain her composure and strength in the face of danger. Thane Snowfallson’s visit to the hold and the intended discussion about his disregard for the established norms and respects he owed to other tribes within the basin marked her first opportunity to demonstrate strength and unity within her new role.

These considerations of what to do consumed her thoughts, filling the void of silence and bridging the disconnect of her role. She knew that these other tribes might not respect her because of where she came from, which left her wanting to demonstrate her worth. Not to placate them or endear them to her, but to strengthen Lion Claw Hold's image. She belonged to the Avvar now, and that was of her choice.

She was a changed woman, a lowlander no more.

Her thoughts rolled to the man that occupied the other side of the bed, missing from his evening post. She had not the faintest clue as to where Cullen was, but it would not surprise her to find him organizing war meetings without her. He felt accustomed to doing things alone, but he needed to understand that she would not remain content with getting left in the dark. He knew she was capable, fierce, and invested in not starting a blood feud if they could avoid it. So, why was he keeping her out of these affairs, especially as she would become the Lady of the Hold through their union?

“Men,” Kassandra mused aloud at some point. She closed her eyes to settle deeper into the sheets and soothe herself with the ambient crackling of the hearth situated at the foot of the bed. She slithered lower to capture the fleeting warmth losing to the winter’s pervasive cold. She rolled on her side and curled into herself, haplessly fighting the cold, “They are always the same: stubborn, driven by a sense of ego, and determined to go it alone. Have they no realization that a woman’s prudent guidance might be something unequivocally useful?” She mumbled to herself, or perhaps the spirits of the women who came before her watching over.

The lineage of Trevelyan women was filled with fire in their hearts, guile on their tongues, and the beauty intended to capture the hearts of armies. Trevelyan women were forces to be reckoned with, and Kassandra believed herself to resemble the epitome of her family’s name. Therefore, she would not cease upholding the Trevelyan values during uncertain circumstances.

The wind outside howled on like the forlorn wolf’s cry in the night, whispering to her to face the trial awaiting her at dawn. Kassandra clung to the sheets of the empty bed and waited for another bout of sleep to try and claim her, knowing that too would ultimately fail.

The dawn would come.

* * *

The first of dawn brought Cullen and Kassandra to the throne room, dressed in their furs. Cullen wore a bundle of fabric and furs, complete with a lined hood, to stave off the cold. The blue swirls of his tattoos peeked out from the neckline of his garment. Kassandra donned the fur-capped dress, outfitted with a navy and fur-trimmed hood to match her Thane. She remembered something her grandmother once told her, _“a united front between a couple begins with appearances-”_

“Thane Rutherford, the Embrium Dragon Hold envoy arrived at the gates. Farah and Delrin are escorting them in with armed reinforcements. It appears Thane Snowfallson came with two personal guards and no other visible reinforcements. We left guards at the gates to ensure the safety of those within our walls.” Rylen reported, skidding to a knee before Cullen and Kassandra. Missing his bright, friendly grin stoked the tight bundle of tension sitting in Kassandra’s chest. Their time to prepare before dealing with Thane Snowfallson was dwindling and in the final moments.

“Very well,” Cullen nodded stoically and turned to Kassandra from where he sat on his throne. Delrin and Rylen would occupy either side of his throne in a flanking stance while Farah leaned against the open doorway to prevent escape. That left Kassandra out of place, and he gestured for her to assume a stance somewhere closer to his throne. He expected that she might stand beside his throne on the left-hand side, maintaining a respectable distance while still performing her role as the visage of a united pair. “Kassandra, the time has come.”

“Yes, my Thane,” Kassandra gracefully pushed up her hood over the top of her head and walked to his left side, as predicted. The right side was the position of honor—a tidbit she learned from her brother. However, Cullen did not anticipate that she would seat herself on the arm of the throne and right within his reach. She resided much closer to him with perfect posture and a serene blankness to her facial expression. Cullen sat up, much more interested in this, and curled his arm around her hip. His hand comfortably settled into the juncture of her seated lap and stabilized her on the edge of the throne where she perched herself. Kassandra swallowed thickly, giving herself a moment to break and re-compose herself.

Before the gaggle of people entered the throne room, Rylen hustled and settled himself to the left of Kassandra, exchanging a reassuring look with her. She straightened her posture and adopted the quiet strength of her father with the grace of her mother. When Farah and Delrin entered the room, a hulking mountain of a man lumbered in after them, and he needed to duck through the entryway. His scraggly beard, streak with grey hairs, hid a stern frown, and white-blue eyes of the snowcapped mountains locked onto Kassandra from across the room. His frown transformed into a lecherous smile, causing Kassandra’s skin to crawl, which unsettled her and Cullen. The audacity of his decision-

His entourage positioned themselves behind him, disarmed. They got stripped of their weapons at the gates before they were allowed to enter the premises of the hold, a tradition of all clans under peace treaties. Although bucking traditions seemed inevitable with Snowfallson from how he and his people proceeded thus far. It hardly inspired confidence with Cullen or his council in Snowfallson’s ability to establish the basic respects between him and Cullen.

“Ah, Cullen-” Thane Baelr Snowfallson declared, deep voice echoing off the walls. Kassandra nearly flinched from the unexpected loudness of his greeting but forced herself to stay unmoving. She imagined herself to be a statue like the marble ones constructed in the gardens of Trevelyan Estate. She kept her eyes level and pointed through Snowfallson, even when he roved his gaze over her.

“That’s Thane Rutherford to you,” Cullen snarled, his grip around the arm of his chair tightening at the impunity of Snowfallson. He had no leg to stand on, no right to saunter into his hold, and play disrespectful games. His curt response set the tone of the meeting, and hostility washed over the room, darkening the moods of all those involved like storm clouds over the valley. Neither Thane appeared interested in feigning friendliness with one another, which worsened the tension in the air. The talks were deteriorating before much talking had commenced. Cullen, through a set jaw, demanded he answer for his actions, “You and your men have trespassed against my people and me. You incite violence without reason and seem unflinching of ramifications to your actions. You defy the peace honored in treaties between the various clans, and I demand a justification for your behavior against my people. We are owed an explanation, at least.”

Snowfallson cracked his neck, quite amused with Cullen. He did not take Cullen’s demands seriously, but he felt that he might humor him. Perhaps ‘playing nice’ with the young Thane would foster the goodwill he needed for what he came here for?

“I come here for her, the lowlander pet,” Snowfallson smirked, pointing at Kassandra, where she sat next to Cullen. Those of Lion Claw Hold stiffened rigidly, knowing it was a matter of time before other holds discovered Kassandra’s presence and took notice of the Thane’s bride. Her beauty induced awe, and the hold looked for fresh blood to arrange unions, making Lion Claw an ideal trading partner with how many converts they accepted into their ranks. Except for Cybele, those of the Thane’s war council were outsiders adopted into the clan and renounced their past lives.

“-She has a name,” Cullen growled, speaking rashly when hearing his Chosen described as a pet. She was not some dumb animal, and he detested the notion that Snowfallson considered his acts justified because of Kassandra. Why Kassandra did not speak for herself was lost on the others in the room, but she refused to show anyone that she felt utterly paralyzed by the discussion’s turn. Cullen’s firm hand on her hip anchored her in the room, and she felt thankful for him speaking out right away.

“Whatever her name is, my intentions remain the same,” Snowfallson remarked, dismissively ignoring what Cullen had to say. He hardly cared what her name was. That held no importance to him. What did matter to him was her attributes and what price Cullen would relinquish her for. Snowfallson had to have her; his scouts' reports about her did not serve her justice. “I wish to take her back to my hold and shall offer any price you desire. I will revoke my threat of a blood feud and pay you handsomely in gold, a portion of the spring’s harvest, and a quarter of the foraged goods for the remainder of winter.” 

“No. She is my Chosen.” Cullen did not hesitate before an outright, sharp refusal of Snowfallson, causing the opposing Thane to slightly narrow his eyes. Kassandra felt her heart leap up into her throat when Cullen referred to her as his Chosen, feeling the protective status encase her in faithful armor. Cullen would not throw her to the wolves-

“So, you wish a harder barter for her? Fine. How about-?” Snowfallson seemed unrepentant about his demands, figuring that he could push and push until he found the golden price Cullen was willing to pay.

“I said no.” Cullen cut him off, not willing to hear it. He made himself explicitly clear that there would be no bartering or no trade, now or ever. Kassandra was not up for sale like a piece of livestock or some grain, especially not to a fool like Snowfallson. He held a union underneath the eyes of the pantheon, and his wife would not react so kindly to her husband’s transgressions.

“How much could she mean to you? She’s a replaceable lowlander-” Snowfallson protested Cullen’s obstinate refusal, but his choice of words led to Cullen slamming his free hand against the arm of his chair and causing a hush to fall over the room. His arm wrapped around Kassandra’s body tugged her closer, and she pressed her hand against his, the touch soothing him through the world of red he saw.

“She is my Chosen, going to be my wife in the eyes of the Pantheon. She is no pet, and she is not for sale, nor will I change my mind on the matter.” Cullen reprimanded his audacity, an intended rebuke of his misinformed idea that Cullen would simply abandon his Chosen over the threat of violence. His belief in the higher powers of his gods refused to bow to the authority of his “equal” in Thane Snowfallson. He did not trade people like possessions, and that was his final word on the matter. If Snowfallson had nothing else to bother him with, his intrusion within the hold was overstayed. “Now, I suggest you leave my presence. Otherwise, there will be a problem.”

“So be it, Thane Rutherford. You spat in the face of a generous offer and placed your people in harm’s way. How are you to tell your people that you chose to embroil them in a war for the price of one life? You would choose a plaything instead of prosperity between tribes, which encapsulates your failings as a ruler. You are not worthy of being Thane-” Snowfallson sneered, mocking Cullen’s refusal of him, and earning glares from those of Lion Claw. The impetuous amusement from his entourage quickly dispersed underneath the deadly strike of unspoken anger from Kassandra. She had enough of their disrespect of her and of Cullen. 

“I believe Thane Rutherford demanded that you leave.” Kassandra raised her voice, snapping over Snowfallson’s derisive tone with her stringent warning. It was the first time she spoke during the exchange, and those belonging to Snowfallson experienced the power she exuded from every word. Her eyes transformed into daggers, which she leveled at Snowfallson, daring him to utter another word. It might become his last.

Snowfallson dragged his eyes down Kassandra’s body with unchecked lechery, worsening Cullen’s temper, and Kassandra did her best to comfort Cullen. Her fingers curled into his while she prepared another demand for Snowfallson to save his skin before Cullen decided to off him. Snowfallson chuckled at her feistiness and gave a mocking bow, going to leave. He got escorted by the armed guards, and his entourage scampered after him, not wishing to be left behind for Cullen’s simmering anger to handle them how he saw fit.

The meeting was disastrous, a farce from the moment Snowfallson stepped foot into Lion Claw Hold. The way he conducted himself and his entitled attitude left a bitter taste in Kassandra, Farah, and Delrin's mouths. Where bitterness and disgust filled them, Cullen found untampered, uncontrollable rage bubbling.

“Everyone else, leave us,” Cullen demanded to Delrin, Rylen, and Farah, who was attempting to process the tense showdown between Thane Rutherford and Thane Snowfallson. Their protests were cut short underneath Cullen’s glower, showing him not to be in a good enough mood for someone to question his judgment. Nodding and parting with their respects, Farah, Rylen, and Delrin departed from the throne room, and that left Kassandra glanced at Cullen sadly.

She watched him release his hand from her and rise from his throne, face painted in twisted anger seething red and stiff. He paced across the stone floor; eyes leveled ahead at the walls. Kassandra could only watch him march the length of the throne room for so long. Her body ached when the tightness and the fear of staring at Thane Snowfallson were released from her, and she could see Cullen’s anger drowning him down. His silence worried her more than if he yelled.

“Cullen, please stop,” Kassandra begged, reminding him that he was not alone. His pacing slowed until he ultimately halted before the throne, glancing to his side and staring at Kassandra and where she remained seated. She stepped down from the arm of his throne and approached him, cupping his face in her hands. He turned his head away from her, but she insistently made him face her. Their eyes met, exchanging anger and fear. It seemed neither encouraged the outcome of Snowfallson’s threat of war, but how else were they to proceed? What could they have done better? “Is this all worth it? Am I worth the high price staked on this conflict?”

“I am not afraid of Snowfallson or his pathetic threats. I merely need time to consider our options for defense against the promised attacks.” Cullen remarked, avoiding Kassandra’s question outright. There was an answer in what he said, but maybe not the one she desired. He turned his head away, breaking their eye contact and shutting her off from reading him; he knew her to be smart enough to slip through his defenses like a thief in the night. Kassandra recognized that as a dismissal of her from his presence and, not wanting to draw his ire further, she let go of his face and left the room. Her back facing him, she missed the way his stare lingered after him and parted to reveal something behind the anger raging on: regret.

* * *

Standing inside the infirmary, Kassandra sat at the edge of an empty cot while Quari and Persephone worked with the herbs they had. Kassandra had come to them with a nasty headache, and Persephone insisted on fetching her something to remedy the pain. She rubbed at her temples and considered lying down until the others felt ready, begrudgingly gripping the edges of the cot. She shifted to rest and closed her eyes, brushing the linen skirts of her changed dress. Hours passed since the early morning meeting to deal with Thane Snowfallson, and Kassandra had not seen Cullen since that time. When she asked Rylen or Farah where Cullen might have gone, they gave the awkward non-answers that told her they knew, and he did not wish to be bothered.

So, she went about her usual business around the hold for a while, but her body felt overwhelmed under the stresses of Snowfallson’s promise. Unable to do much else, she brought herself to the infirmary where she now lay.

She listened to the ambient noises of the hold outside the infirmary walls while drifting between the hushed snippets of conversation from Quari and Persephone. Her senses picked up on the smell of elfroot burning, and she figured she might see Persephone heating elfroot leaves over the fire.

Something Kassandra noticed was how calmed she felt while in the infirmary and believed it to be the presence of Persephone and Quari. The elven women were kind, gentle-natured, and quite wise. They appeared in the know about Avvar traditions and customs, which she wanted to learn more about. But then she thought about what other capacities they might assist her. Cullen held advisors in his council who gave him guidance, and Kassandra saw no reason that she should not form confidants of her own. She believed Persephone and Quari would suit her needs with spiritual guidance and reassurances so that she did not misstep. The role laid to be hers required patience, strength, knowledge, and a fierce heart—all qualities she believed she possessed. However, she had much to learn before she felt truly prepared.

“Persephone, Quari, if I may consult your advice?” Kassandra mumbled from where she laid on the cot, eyes still closed. She observed as the quiet conversations ceased, and she heard footsteps approach her body. She felt a dip in the cot near her feet, deducing that someone sat down.

“Of course, my Lady. We would be honored to help you. What is it that you need?” Quari offered, her voice noticeably closer, and Kassandra realized that it was she who sat at her feet. She sighed, opening her eyes to the comforting smile of Quari.

“I am concerned about Cu- Thane Rutherford.” Kassandra explained, and Quari nodded, prepared for her to elaborate further, “I do not understand why he is determined to fight for me. I cannot be that important to him that he would risk lives for me. Snowfallson seems determined to make him pay for refusing him, and I cannot stand that bastard. But Cullen’s refusal to let me go confuses me if I may be truthful. Those who held power over me have never felt averse toward utilizing me as a pawn for gain, typically that of a political nature. The people who were supposed to protect me gave up on me at the first opportunity so they could cling to fleeting power and passed me around without guilt or remorse. I did not realize that Thane Rutherford cared enough as to whether I stayed or vanished.”

She found two sympathetic frowns facing her in Quari, still at the bedside, and Persephone approaching with a delicately crafted teacup in her hands. It looked vaguely familiar, and Kassandra assumed it belonged to the set in one of her trunks that re-emerged on the road through the Basin. She sat up, rubbing her temple.

“Well, Thane Rutherford is someone that cares about all of us more than he lets on. But I would say that he cares about you because he chose you. He believes you to be the one sent to him through the will of the gods. He would defend you with his life,” Persephone explained while handing Kassandra the cup, and she stared into the contents of green, murky looking broth. Avoiding wrinkling her nose, Kassandra brought the rim to her lips and sipped at the broth—bitter on her tongue but not inedible.

“I find his devotion to you reassuring for those of us within the hold. Unions between Thanes and their partners sometimes are little more than unhappy arrangements, and you seem receptive to the relationship. Besides, we needed someone like you to stand beside Thane Rutherford for the sake of tradition. Those traditionalists grew concerned that Thane Rutherford would scorn a mate, and concerns about producing heirs do hold some sway.” Quari remarked, adding her opinion to the mix. Kassandra felt some insights gleaned from that about the expectations of her by some of the clan. 

“Still, devotion does little when the threat of violence breaks out. I cannot believe that Thane Snowfallson had the audacity to march into our hold and bargain for me like I was nothing more than a piece of meat or some commodity he wished to purchase. Disgusting!” Kassandra scoffed, taking in several drawn-out sips of the broth, and she felt the effects clearing her head.

“I find their timing quite strange. Other than our celebration of a successful hunt, I cannot see why they chose last night to make their intentions clearer.” Persephone murmured, voicing what had bothered her with the whole confrontation. She learned much through Farah’s relay of events, and what Kassandra must feel caused her heart to ache. 

“…The blood eclipse- Oh, I should have realized!” Quari gasped. 

“The what?” Kassandra blinked, halting the broth mid-way to her lips, and stared between Persephone and Quari with visible confusion. _Blood eclipse?_

“The other day, I overheard Cybele murmuring to herself over an offering. While I missed most of what she declared, I did catch something about war and bloodshed under the blood eclipse. Perhaps that might be a sign!” Quari exclaimed, hopeful that she discovered an explanation of what brought upon this tragic series of events upon the Avvar.

“Possibly. But the blood eclipse is a rare phenomenon,” Persephone murmured but noticed Kassandra appeared lost. She nudged the broth to her lips and forced Kassandra to sip some more before she continued, “According to myth, the blood moon is where one moon turns red and the other vanishes into the darkness. It represents discord among the gods and often explains bad omens such as famine, pestilence, or violence lurking soon.”

“The moon last night—I struggled to sleep, and when I stepped outside to indulge some fresh air and clear my head, the moon danced with crimson airs. I did stare into the redness of it and noted the loss of Satina, but too much weighed me down to fully recognize that something was off.” Kassandra recalled, closing her eyes and taking in the memory of her at the side of a cliff, her nightgown swaying in the wind, and eyes drawn onto the bloodied moon. 

All three women sat in silence, digesting the realization that Cybele foretold an omen about war arriving at Lion Claw Hold on the night of the blood eclipse, and none of them realized that her words came to pass. The dawn brought Snowfallson and his ultimatum to their feet, therefore achieving the promised threat of war. The guilt occupying Kassandra’s chest dulled and stopped feeling like shards of glass prodding relentlessly at her lungs, slowly dissipating into nothingness. She quietly sipped at the broth Persephone made and relished as her headache lessened. Although the prospect of violence over her presence upset her, she felt solace in knowing that circumstances laid out of her control and were beyond her.

Now she hoped to guide Lion Claw Hold into a victory against the forces that threatened their prosperity for selfish gains. She needed to be prepared for war, an inevitable curse that would dirty her hands with blood and lives taken.

A high price to pay for freedom.


	9. Dreams of the Waking Sea

Blue skies over the lush, blooming garden made perfect scenery for a nobility wedding, and the scene would be beautiful if not for the reluctant bride. Kassandra glanced around at the garden and the mansion looming behind it, eyes wide and panicked. She did not know how she got here nor how she might escape from this. The dress she wore dripped in swirling lace, glimmering with the touch of diamonds, and exuded wealth that she felt beyond her family’s means.

At her side, she felt her hand tugged, and she jerkily turned—nearly screaming when faced with a faceless groom, dressed in silken and embroidered clothes. She guessed him to be the noble she belonged to before the circumstances that led her to Lion Claw Hold. She tried to pry her hands from his, but his grip shackled her like iron chains to the makeshift altar on which they stood.

She whirled around, feeling her breath choke in her throat when facing an audience filled with masked strangers. Their dress for the occasion told her they were Orlesian, but her disdain for Orlesian nobles failed to spark when filled with utter fear at their smiles. They were hollow, distorted with a pleasure that relished in her helplessness. Pretty little Free Marcher simpleton should feel lucky to marry above her station, into wealth and status.

A yelp crossed her lips when she got forcibly turned around to face the groom, his hands still gripping onto her. The space between them dwindled, not by any choice of hers, and the move earned the approval of the crowd that came with polite clapping and lighthearted whispers. Disgusted, Kassandra writhed around and managed to step back yet could not free her hands from his.

“No! Stop!” Kassandra pleaded, wrestling against him while the officiant chanted their vows to bind them in matrimony. The empty smiles throughout the audience never wavered, plastered onto the masked faces and mocking her fear. Unsure of what to do, Kassandra felt her knees buckle and started to scream at the top of her lungs. It was an ugly, howling sound tearing from her vocal cords with such feral ferocity—begging for someone to save her or she might tear the heavens asunder between her bare hands.

The world around her blurred to the melody of her melancholy pitched to the crescendo of her terrified screams. Nothing made sense, and she wanted to be free, to be anywhere but where she was. Help- She needed help-

But the invasive flicker of smoke pushed into her lungs, and she coughed, tumbling down until her vision cleared. She flinched backward when she noticed the lifeless, mauled bodies of the groom and the officiant sprawled across the altar. She turned and faced the rows of nobles, dead in their seats. Bloodstained the stone path running through the blooming garden. Fire danced in her eyes when she realized the mansion was steadily consumed in an inferno, burning down before her eyes.

She reached for her chest, but her eyes caught onto red on her hands. With shock and horror, she glanced down to observed that her hands and arms were caked in blood. The once white ballgown skirt of her dress was stained red with handprints pressed into the fabric. _Red, red, red_ —everything burned crimson with chastisement. Accusatory thoughts whirled around in her head, louder than the creaks of the burning mansion, and she felt her hands tremble.

_Murderer._

_Murderer._

_Murderer._

She was a monster in a wedding gown, a bride of brutality. Death shrouded her under its veil, and the purity of the white became tainted with sinful flickers of red. Where screams once escaped her without forethought, they fell quiet. Eyes stuck on bloody hands and the bodies lifelessly lying in the garden, Kassandra felt the strangest prickle in her chest.

Then, she began to laugh.

Her laughter roared from her stomach, piercing and maniacal. The paradoxicality of her laughter was not lost on her, but she could not stop herself. The mansion burned, and she descended into the open arms of madness.

* * *

Cullen considered himself a light sleeper.

He had been since he was a lad.

He never found much comfort in sleep as he hardly did it, drawn from unconsciousness with the softest of creaks or when the wind howled too loudly outside his chambers. Thus, sleep became a luxury he rarely could afford. He spent those sleepless periods thinking about how best to serve his people, and the Embrium Dragon Hold threat provided him much to mull over.

 _Snowfallson thought he could wage war, and that would scare Cullen into submission?_ Then, he did not know Cullen Rutherford, the Lion of- Well, that title held no importance anymore. He shook his head, disgruntled. Whatever Snowfallson expected, he felt determined to rain misery upon his rival as a statement. He was never one to be messed with. Cullen went to lay back down, closing his eyes and considering another go at sleep. He felt the darkness start to settle in, washing over him and pulling him down into rest.

However, the grip sleep exerted over him was interrupted by a scream. He immediately bolted up in the bed and looked to his side to Kassandra, moaning lowly. Her body trembled violently, and a brush against her skin found her body ice cold. She thrashed around relentlessly like she was fighting against something in her dreams.

Cullen, wasting not a moment, scooped her into his arms and cradled her up against his chest to bring warmth to her, and whispered her name. “Kassandra… Kassandra… Kassandra!”

His voice reached out to her, and steadily, she stopped thrashing around. Her body eventually reached a place of stillness and curled into him instinctively, seeking the warmth of his skin. He felt like a roaring fire, skin radiating warmth built from the years he spent building tolerance to the Basin's freezing winters. Cullen softly rocked her from side to side, stirring her from sleep. Her eyes hesitantly opened after a moment, immediately connecting with Cullen’s.

She did not fight his embrace or flinch away from him, remaining nestled in his arms. She blinked a few times and rubbed at her eyes. He seemed so calm, so gentle with her. No hint of sternness could be found on his face, and Kassandra could not deny how safe she felt in his arms. Cullen wanted to get to the bottom of what caused her such fear and anguish with her awake.

“Are you alright, Kassandra?” Cullen questioned and observed how her petite body's trembling lessened with his warmer body pressed against her. The fear in her eyes faded away when she realized that the horrors she witnessed were nothing more than figments of her imagination. 

“I-” “It was nothing. Merely a nightmare. I apologize if I disturbed you, Cullen.” Kassandra swallowed thickly, adverting her eyes in embarrassment. Cullen frowned slightly, and he did not drop her from his arms now that she was awake. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” He offered, breaching the uncomfortable quiet that fell over the room. They did not spend much time together in this intimate setting, evident in the air of awkwardness between them. Being vulnerable was neither of their strong suits.

“I think that would be best,” Kassandra agreed, and Cullen helped her sit up. She mulled over everything she witnessed, determined to carefully describe what happened. She felt the dream might sound outlandish to be upset about, but the circumstances as of late might explain the overwhelming anguish she experienced. “I dreamed about a nightmarish wedding.”

“Oh?” Cullen’s surprise confused Kassandra until she realized that he assumed she dreamt about their impending ceremony. She shook her head quickly, not wanting to offend him.

“Not with you. Uh, before I ended up on Lion Claw territory, I was supposed to marry a nobleman of Orlais. I knew nothing about him, other than he was willing to pay to own me. Our wedding would be our first meeting, but that never happened.” Kassandra explained, noticing how Cullen maintained a calm expression with little instances of furrowed brows or displeased glimmers in his eyes. She assumed he took issue with the arrangement her uncle established for her, “In the dream, he was faceless, the guests were masked nobles—they laughed at my pain and anguish. He would not let go of me, despite my protestations. I struggled to run or flee, but no one listened to me.”

“Then, what happened?”

“I started screaming. The world fell apart. I stood before a burning mansion with the smoke burning my eyes, my hands and wedding gown covered in blood, and the pile of dead bodies at my feet. I panicked, but then I started laughing uncontrollably. The sight of the dead made me laugh, and I do not know if I killed them or how they died, but I cannot help feeling like a monster-” Kassandra rambled, losing control of her breathing until she started hyperventilating. Cullen sprang into action, wrapping his arms around her and gently turned her head so she would look into his eyes. Amber met azure—one side unusually gentle and the other unusually afraid.

“Kassandra, breathe. You are awake now, and it was a dream.” Cullen instructed calmly, careful to not upset the woman in his arms by raising his voice or snapping out of line. He knew a thing or two about nightmares, and callousness never did anyone well when tormented. Kassandra mimicked his intentionally slow breathing until she could think clearly.

“But what was it trying to tell me?” Kassandra mumbled, as her thoughts still somewhat scrambled from the panic. She firmly believed that dreams serve as intentional glimpses into one’s soul, meant to reveal important discoveries about your destiny.

“What do you think it wanted you to understand? How might it show what you fear?” Cullen pushed, knowing that she knew her heart better than he would. She held the insights into understanding her fears, and he wanted to understand her.

“I am- I fear my choices not getting respected. I spent much of my last few years as the pawns of other people’s games, and with Snowfallson bargaining lives of his men and ours, it reminds me of the kind of restrictive life I never wish to return to. So, I fear what his war might bring.”

“Let me promise you, Kassandra… I will not let any harm befall you during this feud or after. You have my word and devout dedication to your safety. You are one of us, one of Lion Claw Hold. Therefore, your safety forever remains my responsibility. So, do not linger on the fears of what could have been or what might be. I shall watch over you.” Cullen stated, his solemn tone and unwavering attention on her made her believe him. Kassandra nodded, somewhat assuaged with the assertion of Cullen’s undivided protection. She rubbed at her eyes, and Cullen noticed the distant look in them, turning glassy, and her eyelids dipped. He reached out and stroked her face under a calloused thumb, and, with luck, the repetitive motion lulled Kassandra into the exhaustion open to claim her. She watched as Cullen’s softened expression vanished from sight, and she fell into the darkness, ending up in the peaceful memory of her home where she basked in the sunlight from Trevelyan Estate’s garden.

* * *

The morning arrived without a second bout of nightmares for Kassandra, guiding her from the warm embrace of sleep into wakefulness. Her eyes, heavy with sleep, opened, and she yawned noiselessly while coming too. She felt unusually warm, given the colder weather of the Basin and turned her head, eyes jolting open and jaw going slack. Beside her, she saw none other than Cullen, still asleep. He laid on his back like she did, hands resting on his stomach or behind his head, and his face showed him to be at peace. His lips were closed, punctuating the faint scar Kassandra noticed early on yet never held the courage to ask about. Seeing him in their shared bed surprised her, rendering her speechless.

Kassandra propped herself up on her elbow, hesitantly reaching out to cup his face. Her fingers grazed against his prickly stubble, holding her breath while ghosting her touch as not to disturb his slumber. She traced his face under her fingertips and mapped out the defined jawline and strong features that classified him as “classically handsome.” She retracted her hand but stopped halfway when noticing a stray curl of his stuck to his forehead and could not help the quick brush of her thumb that pushed the hair away. Her cheeks heated, and she decided that she should not push her luck. She did not know how often Cullen slept, and waking him seemed irresponsible of her.

Sitting herself up, she felt her thoughts accumulating and did not want to spend the morning burdened with the memories of the past. She could not change what happened, nor could she change her separation from her home across the sea. It was likely that she would never see Trevelyan Estate again, and she, oddly, felt at peace with that. That house lost the heart that made it her home, and the sooner she let go, the sooner she could settle into her new home. There was no better time to make peace with her past when her future promised adventure and conflict, two sides of the same coin.

Kassandra slipped out of bed. She retrieved a silver clip from where it rested on the floor, using it to tie back her hair into a no-fuss updo. As she felt her presence might disturb Cullen from his sleep, going out and into the village seemed unavoidable. She grabbed the small bucket meant for water that she used to wash her face and bathe. To get water, she would need to travel to the nearby river outside the gates and clean it over the fire's heat.

She grabbed her worn boots and stepped into them, smiling when they hid underneath the skirt of her nightgown. She fiddled with the poufy sleeves and knew they were not enough to stave off the winter’s cold and that she needed something else. Her eyes darted around when they landed on the bear fur mantle belonging to Cullen, draped over her trunk. She, not knowing what else to use, chewed on her lip and reasoned that she could borrow it. Before she changed her mind, she jogged over and slipped the mantle on through the hood. Satisfied, she fetched the bucket and headed out of their chambers.

Exposing herself to the soft skies turning into a recognizable blue and embracing the crisp mountain air with a deep inhale, Kassandra snuggled into the mantle of Cullen’s bear furs before embarking down the steep walk. She chose her worn boots and comfortably descended the sloped stairs into the village. The quiet jumped out at her as she got accustomed to waking and entering the village when the others were out and about with their daily duties. She did miss the sound of children playing outside the huts or the bellowing of the men when discussing sparring in the arena or the greetings of the women when they saw her approaching.

As she passed the infirmary, she noticed Farah and Persephone standing in the doorway, speaking in hushed whispers and giggles. She observed Farah lean forward and press a gentle kiss to the corner of Persephone’s lips, eliciting a giggle from the taller woman and the pinkening of her cheeks with an unmistakable blush. Kassandra found the sight quite heartwarming—the tender, unspoken moments of love often captured the poetic romantic that she kept hidden away.

“Oh, Lady Kassandra! Good morning!” Persephone exclaimed cheerfully when she noticed Kassandra over Farah’s shoulder, not a difficult task as Persephone possessed a tall willowy frame. She smiled politely and brushed her braid over her shoulder. Kassandra nodded respectfully in greeting.

“You two are up early,” Kassandra remarked, a soft quirk of her brow punctuating her fondness for the two women where a neutral expression might convey her exhaustion.

“As are ye, m’lady,” Farah replied, grinning at Kassandra in Thane Rutherford’s cloak. She never saw Thane Rutherford without it on and tried to imagine the hilarity of him without it or the conversation that might have ensued when Kassandra requested to borrow it if she asked at all.

“Fair point,” Kassandra laughed delightedly, fixing the rim of the hood over her head and nuzzling into the warmth of the furs. She planned on changing later when she needed to attempt more arduous tasks for the day. “I wanted to gather some water since I did not have any pressing matters to attend to.”

“Lady Kassandra, could you use an escort?” Persephone offered, noticing her unaccompanied to the river, and she knew Thane Rutherford would not appreciate his Chosen without an escort or two. Especially with the tensions between Lion Claw and Embrium Dragon, those of the hold were strongly encouraged to go nowhere without a partner or two.

“Actually, I would appreciate that.” Kassandra nodded, understanding that venturing beyond the safety of the hold alone would make her easy prey for those intending to do her harm and attack Cullen’s reputation. She figured that taking two others, her friends if you will, with her would provide safety in numbers and a deterrent from attack. Lion Claw Hold women were not ones to be reckoned with or underestimated.

“Aye, we shall join ye, m’lady.” Farah offered a friendly smile and held out her arm to Kassandra. Persephone looped Kassandra’s other one around hers, placing Kassandra in the middle of Persephone and Farah. With Farah armed and Persephone versed in magic, all three felt safe enough in their small pack to head down to the river and begin another day.


	10. Nocturne of the Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER CONTAINS A SCENE THAT SOME MIGHT FIND DISTRESSING. PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION! IF FICTIONAL DEPICTIONS OF ATTEMPTED KIDNAPPING OR GRAPHIC VIOLENCE ARE TRIGGERS FOR YOU, PLEASE SKIP TO THE NEXT CHAPTER IN THE STORY. 
> 
> I REPEAT: THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER WILL CONTAIN A KIDNAPPING SCENE AND MIGHT BE DISTRESSING TO SOME READERS. PLEASE MIND THE TAGS AND USE DISCRETION.

The night air was cool, soothing even.

Kassandra thought that the quiet of the night, accentuated by the silence blanketing the hold, might cure the spell of sleeplessness that gripped her so fiercely like the maw of an hungered lion. Hence, she sat along the cliff with her legs dangling over the edge, her hair loosened around her shoulders, and bundled up in a soft blue nightgown.

During a hunting expedition with her, Cullen, and Rylen the day before, they stumbled upon a chest abandoned within their territory. Kassandra immediately recognized the golden seal branded into the wood as her family’s crest and managed to open the broken lock. She found nothing looted from within, surprisingly. Cullen ordered the men joining them on the hunt to carry the chest back to the throne room for Kassandra.

The nightgown was among the personal items that she recovered, including the old sword she so dearly missed. When she changed into the nightgown for the evening’s slumber, she noticed how Cullen’s eyes lingered on her form clothed in a pale blue, smooth nightgown that exposed the curve of her shoulders and her ankles freely. No long, puffed sleeves or full-floor skirt, but something a tad more freeing.

However, simple memories were the furthest thing on her mind while glimpsing upward at the star-studded tapestry that was the night sky. The beauty of the night seemed something she took for granted while back in Ostwick, never spending enough time learning about the stars. After her parents’ untimely end, she neglected her studies and had not continued to pursue scholarship into the things she once loved. It became hard to love when an empty void existed where her heart used to be, leaving a bloody pulp behind.

Kassandra sighed, closing her eyes. As the world went dark, she could hear it singing. Not with words or anything close to it, but the soft whispers of life from a far off cry of birds or the whistle of the wind through the trees. Living in a cold mansion, she never understood how freeing and alive nature felt. She spent too many long years trapped like a songbird in a cage, destined to fly yet trapped behind golden bars for the amusement of others.

All was quiet until the peace she coveted was interrupted. Kassandra felt her face scrunch up when hearing footsteps on the ledge behind her. She assumed that someone was passing by or that perhaps someone had come to join her in her enjoyment of the night-

“Cullen, is that you?” She tilted her head, straining to identify the sound of footsteps. Something within her sparked awake with violent, primal fear. Something cold roughly covering her mouth to muffle her scream as she felt weightless, yanked in a direction she could only assume was backward. What felt like an arm snaked around her torso and slammed back into her, causing her world to spin out of focus. She felt frantic confusion wash over her as her surroundings jumbled, and she was pulled back from the cliff, into the arms of a stranger, and dragged into the darkness.

Running, she heard running. She felt the gag over her mouth clamp tighter, feeling out what she guessed was a hand- 

“Go! Hurry!” A gruff voice growled from behind her, and Kassandra felt sick to her stomach when she realized what was happening. She was being kidnapped, and she refused to go quietly into the night. So, she thrashed around fearsomely and sank her teeth into the fleshy palm of her assailant. The hand smothering her mouth flew away to the grumbled vocalizations of pain, and that was when Kassandra began screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Shut her up-!” The second voice, a companion, hissed forcefully. It was a threat to her as much as a command to his partner. She did not stop her pleading screams for help or her frantic fighting against the grip of her kidnappers. A threat was not enough to silence her; they would need to try harder than that. However, she did not recognize the faces and jumped between assumptions until she recognized the painted markings. Her eyes widened when she saw a flash of red swirls against the exposed skin and howled louder. Embrium Dragons—and they were keen on taking her without a fight.

“I am trying. The whore keeps writhing-” Kassandra had heard enough. Her eyes looked around for anything to escape these boorish fools, and her hip brushed against something jutting out from her captor’s belt. She squinted through the dark while still screaming, not wanting to give the illusion that she surrendered to them or the bastard they called a leader. Her heart raced in her ears when the light gave way enough for her to make out the sight of an unsheathed dagger. That was her escape. She wiggled her shoulders and dropped her weight, making her heavier to carry and cloaking her intentions. As she planned, her captor stopped and went to readjust her in his arms.

Kassandra leaped into action. Her hands pulled the dagger from the leather loop holding it and, without hesitation, plunged it straight through her captor’s thigh with a growl. She felt the blade sink through solid muscle and sinew, pushed quite deep.

“Argh!” He bellowed and let go of Kassandra, letting her awkwardly fall to the ground. She coughed when the air fled her chest. Biting on her tongue to keep back the wounded cry, Kassandra pushed herself onto her feet and sprinted across rocks and twigs further into the hold. She wailed incoherently. What she hoped someone would hear is “help.” Her hair flared out behind her in the winter night’s wind, picking up and dragging her back by the skirt of her nightgown.

She did not get far enough.

A pair of burly arms wrapped around her with a vice grip and trapped her in, cutting her escape short. She would be going nowhere, not when she was a valuable woman to their Thane. He looked to his companion, who could still use his leg. Keep going!”

“Let go of me! Let me go!” Kassandra snarled, feeling some sort of defiance awaken in her bones. There was fear, yes. But defiance did not cower somewhere safe, and neither did the fighting spirit that lived in her heart and ran through her veins with the kiss of fire. She noticed that the man who grabbed her the first time wore a pained grimace, staring at the dagger protruding from his tight. Together, her captors dragged her to the gate at the edge of the hold with a significantly slowed pace from the pronounced limp Kassandra induced. 

Standing outside the gates with a vile smirk at the sight of the mangled woman between his men’s arms, Thane Baelr Snowfallson watched with unadulterated glee at the humbling of Kassandra unfolded. He and his third man, the final member of his quest, exchanged glances at how Kassandra continued her battle, although a futile endeavor.

He won.

Kassandra would be his to keep, to take, to do as he please with, and the thought brought him a rousing wave of pleasure to know he outsmarted that arrogant, inexperienced Thane Rutherford. He hoped that his win would humble the younger man into realizing that he would never be a good leader-

However, his sense of victory did not last. The rustle of the trees sent him and his men on edge, glancing around. Perhaps it was only the wind? These men knew what they were doing marked defiance of their sacred traditions and opened themselves to tragic retribution from the spirits, but their Thane commanded them. So, they marched on with Kassandra, the stolen prize.

They approached the edge of the trees with paranoia at how easily they stole Kassandra, who had yet to stop screaming. Her voice ran ragged, but she refused with the thought that maybe someone would overhear her. If not anyone from the hold, then she needed to know that she screamed loud enough for the heavens and the Gods to hear her.

Snowfallson went to step over the threshold into neutral territory, thereby sealing his contested claim over Kassandra, but froze in place as a twig snapped outside the tree line. An arrow whizzed past, slicing his cheek open before impaling in the nearest tree, and Snowfallson stumbled backward. From the shadows, Cullen walked out with a force of armed men. In the dark of the night, the downright murderous glare he wore sent shivers racing through the Embrium Dragons.

“You. I should have known,” Cullen snapped, and surrounding the men came Rylen, Delrin, Quari with her stave, Farah, and several other warriors. They encircled the Embrium Dragons with weapons at the ready and the air rife with tension. The gates could likely become the sight of a bloodbath should Snowfallson continue down his current path. “Let Kassandra go before you escalate this past the point of no return.”

“Is that a threat, Rutherford?” Snowfallson questioned; it was a redundant one. He knew that Thane Rutherford seemed to froth at the mouth to cleave off his head for his actions, modeling a spectacular temper that Snowfallson felt prepared to exploit. Rutherford did not know what he was begging for with a blood feud, and Snowfallson would happily put the upstart imposter in his place.

Cullen narrowed his eyes at Snowfallson. He seemed keen to meet his blade by running his mouth so relentlessly. “You should know that I do not make idle threats, Snowfallson. So, I will repeat myself once more-”

“I do not take orders from the likes of you-” Snowfallson interrupted, which devolved into a shouting match between the two Thanes with their kinsmen looking on for orders.

“You will surrender her to me, or else-” Cullen barked, and that ensued further incoherent yelling from him and Snowfallson, leaving the peace of the night ruined and left in tatters. Kassandra, still guarded against her will, looked for how to even the tides. She was Snowfallson’s leverage, so take her away, and what did he have left.

Nothing.

Swallowing back the raging battle cry that she wanted to bellow so badly that she physically itched, Kassandra discreetly leaned forward and braced for impact. She slammed her head back with full force, cracking the captor’s nose. He, with a startled grunt, let go of her, and she was ready this time.

Without stopping, she lunged to his companion with the wounded leg. Her hands curled around the dagger hilt, ripped it from his thigh to blood oozing out, and silenced him with a ruthless slit of his throat. Before his body even crumpled, she positioned herself behind the one with the broken nose. Her leg hooked around his and brought him crashing to his knees before her, set up for her to press her stolen dagger to his neck.

Her display interrupted the war of words between Cullen and Snowfallson, resulting in all eyes witnessing Kassandra's feat of having escaped restraint, murdered one of her assailants, and had the other in a death trap of her making.

“Step back,” Kassandra barked, brandishing the dagger against her captive’s neck and pressed enough to draw a little blood. The sight of scarlet trickling down the skin of his neck set everyone on edge, holding their positions. All eyes were on Kassandra, and she gazed into the eyes of her would-be captor—filled with malice. She bared her teeth in a snarl. “-or you’ll have two dead men’s blood on your hands.”

“And what if I do not comply?” Snowfallson questioned defiantly. He did not take orders from a lowlander woman such as Kassandra. This was not over, nor was he going to back down from a fight. He was outnumbered, yet those odds did not scare him enough.

“Then you would be next, should you attempt another step toward me. So, I warn you to drop your weapons and surrender yourself for judgment or else.” Kassandra demanded because this was not a negotiation. Snowfallson trespassed onto Lion Claw Hold territory after getting warned more than once, attempted to steal her under cover of night, and breeched the consent of a time-honored tradition with tainted ambitions. He made the error of ignoring her “no,” and therefore, he had no one to blame but himself, should he ruin his life.

Those of Lion Claw Hold listened to the fierce threat leveled by the lady of their hold and resisted the urge to smirk at the fear in their enemies’ eyes. She was never a woman to be taken lightly, as she seemed keen on proving over again. Time stood still with silence reigning supreme, and drawn weapons sang the melancholic promise of misery and Snowfallson’s downfall. Blinded by rage and hubris, Snowfallson refused to back down when he got so far—determined to have the pretty little pet of Thane Rutherford.

He lunged forward, a bellowing growl arching off his tongue and immediately cut off with a gulp when his collar snagged in the angry grip of Thane Rutherford. Amber eyes glowed with wrath as Cullen yanked Thane Snowfallson backward and inserted himself between him and Kassandra, not letting him get anywhere near her.

Thane Snowfallson stumbled and barely had time to recover before a bare-knuckled punch collided with his mouth, drawing the first blood. He did not throw his hands up to defend himself and felt the second, third, fourth punches slam into his body. Cullen had forgone the sword he carried at his side for the scathing brutality of his bare hands, raining hell down on Snowfallson and turning him into a training dummy rather than a viable opponent. Black and blue, he transformed, punctuated with scarlet flashes of the blood running from his split lip or battered nose.

Snowfallson fell to the ground, slammed against the soft patch of the forest floor. Burning pain and the humiliation of his earned beating pierced the void of his chest, but he realized the sensation of broken bones swirling with unbearable agony. Cullen refused to stop there, dragging Snowfallson back onto his feet after hooking his arm around his rival’s neck. The move was deliberate, slowed. Cullen’s eyes flashed as his grip around Snowfallson inched tighter and tighter. Perhaps he should end the spineless coward’s misery with a swift snap-

“Cullen, stop-” Kassandra stepped forward, her voice cracking ever so slightly. Her pleas were not lost to him, as everyone could see him stop actively applying additional pressure. He kept the force and studied Kassandra’s expression with his temper still blistering. Killing Snowfallson would not work well in their favor, but that did not mean he should go without some form of punishment. The right consequence for his poor choices would send the message: stay away from angering Thane Rutherford or thinking about harming Kassandra.

“You stay away from my Chosen,” Cullen hissed up against his ear and, with forearm digging into Thane Snowfallson’s throat. The pressure forced Snowfallson’s knees to buckle underneath his weight, and an extra shove saw the rival Thane on his knees, placed into humiliating submission. Cullen’s arms did not leave his neck, but his eyes snapped upward to address his men. Snowfallson was abandoned; his men retreated off into the night, afraid for their own lives more than helping their leader, “Secure Thane Snowfallson until the dawn. When the sun rises in the east, he shall see judgment for his transgressions against our people.”

“What about his men?” Delrin questioned, snapping his head in the direction that the Embrium Hold warriors ran. He and a few men would give chase and hunt them down, dragging them back for their judgment alongside their Thane. No loyal soldier abandoned the cause or would flee from the ramifications of their battles, only cowards. He went to unsheathe his sword but halted when Cullen held his hand up in a gesture signaling for him to wait, primed and ready for his Thane’s order.

“Let them run,” Cullen commanded, and he glanced back to Kassandra. His posture straightened when noticing her transfixed gaze on her blood-covered hands, slicked red up to her forearms, and the quiet trembling of her body. He released his grip on Snowfallson, letting his rival pathetically gasp for air, and stepped past his body while Rylen and Delrin converged on him. They hauled Snowfallson onto his feet and would drag him into a holding cell, where he would wait until his judgment at dawn.

Cullen approached Kassandra, lifting her chin to meet his eyes. The rush of survival drained from those blue eyes of hers, leaving her looking exhausted yet not defeated. The blood of a dead man was on her, marring her pale skin with the mark of war. Although she trained herself to fight like a soldier, he and she knew that killing someone would never find itself on her mind or any desire. He dropped his voice, intent on keeping their conversation private, “Are you alright, Kassandra?”

“I-” She stammered, forcing herself to swallow back the urge to cry. She refused to cry. Composing herself, she managed her emotionless mask and mused, “I will be.”

Then, there was the question that needed to be asked, “Was this your first-?”

“I will be fine.” Kassandra brokenly repeated, intentionally avoiding his eyes. She could lie; she was an excellent liar. But what good would that do her? A confirmation without words, rife with the guilt of a criminal. Glassy dead eyes of the man following orders stared up at the night sky, the last sight he would ever see.

Cullen cleared his throat, glaring at the men staring at him and Kassandra—but mostly Kassandra, fear in their eyes because of the dead body. “Did he lay a hand on you?” He inquired, needing to know exactly for how much Snowfallson would answer for when the dawn came.

“No. His men barely brought me to him before you swooped in to rescue me, so thank you.” Kassandra explained and, while Cullen’s fears about what transpired before he got to her, he furrowed his brow. Why would she thank him? Saving her was non-negotiable.

“Of course, I would rescue you-” Cullen remarked, stopping himself before he got swept away in his anger toward Snowfallson. Kassandra did nothing wrong. He sighed, “Come, let us return to our chambers.” Cullen glanced around to find that his men had all but left, leaving him and Kassandra to speak alone. Without fuss or pestering for more conversation, Kassandra nodded. Cullen refused to let her walk, gruffly scooping her into his arms. He overheard the huff that came from her, but it was one of surprise and breathlessness than anything close to annoyance.

In silence, he carried her back to their chambers.

* * *

Their chamber was quiet.

Cullen stood before the fire, watching the orange-hued anger licking at a wooden log while Kassandra changed in the absence of his eyes on her. She discarded the blue nightgown with the hope to wash some of the light blood spatter, cleaned her hands in a cold basin of water, and changed into her older nightgown. The sleeves and full skirt made her feel protected, a soothing remedy for the horrors of that evening. She wondered if she would even sleep for fears of waking up to another nightmarish ordeal, or would her body collapse in exhaustion.

Her eyes floated to the back of Cullen’s neck where a handprint indent sat, showing her corrupted touch on his body. She thought about telling him but decided against it. The sound of her sitting on the edge of the bed brought Cullen turning around and quietly standing before her until she looked at him. His eyes held the dying embers of anger, but somehow, she knew they were not intended toward her.

“Do I need to check you over for injuries?” Cullen questioned, flicking his eyes over her for signs of injuries that she hid from him or ones missed during the chaos of the fight. His tone seemed to nurture, almost intentionally soft for her benefit. Cullen did not want to frighten her, nor did he wish to compound an already taxing night with a callous response.

“No, I am uninjured. Shaken, but ultimately unharmed.” Kassandra promised, and she guiltily held back the idea that “shaken” felt like a poor excuse of an understatement. The fear had not left her, and she did not know what could banish it from her mind.

“Very well,” Cullen seemed satisfied with that answer and walked away, heading toward the door. He planned on recruiting a rotation of guards outside the Throne room until the morning while he cleared his head in the arena. His wrath toward Snowfallson raged under the surface like a winter’s blizzard and the heat of the moment demanded swift retribution for the kidnapping attempt. He hoped that some combat would ease him of his worse impulses. “I shall leave you now.”

“Wait! Please!” Kassandra scrambled onto her feet, her pleas causing Cullen to hesitate in the arch of the door. He reached out and leaned against the wall, letting the firelight illuminate his side profile in a powerful yellow glow and cast shadows across his amber eyes. Kassandra felt her heart lurch in her throat, unsure of what she wanted to say or should say. All she knew is that she wanted him to stay.

“I do not wish you to feel uncomfortable with my presence,” Cullen explained, and Kassandra furrowed her brow. Did he not understand that he saved her life and what that meant to her, the girl worth nothing but a pawn? Did he not understand that she would have refused to stay in the same bed as him if she did not trust he would maintain his promise?

Kassandra shakily sighed, “I trust you, Cullen.”

Cullen did not respond to her verbally. Turning it over in his mind, he studied her face for signs of dishonesty, and when he found none, he walked back to the bed. He planted himself before Kassandra and let her quietly take his hands into hers, neither fighting nor moving on his accord. He did not make the first move or push his boundary, opting to let Kassandra lead him.

She pulled him to his end of the bed and made him sit, patting the empty spot. When Cullen sat, she hurried to the other side of the bed—hers—and pulled back the covers to slide under them. Blanketed in warmth, she rolled onto her side and stared at Cullen, whose eyes never left her. He hummed in understanding and reached out, taking her hand. Content, Kassandra closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the heaviness of the dark—fading off into sleep with the warm imprint of Cullen’s hand connected to hers.


	11. The Queen of the Lions

Kassandra murmured something garbled while spinning out of the embrace of sleep, feeling the world bleed back to life around her. Her senses awakened and her instinct was to chase the darkness to wrap back around her, nestled into the startling warmth that she picked up. Alas, the influence of sleep was long-gone, and Kassandra’s eyes slowly fluttered open, the blurriness warping the world through a smudged looking glass. She blinked once, twice.

Clarity.

Although she did not know what to expect, the sight of a sleeping Cullen with his arms around her did not cross her mind. However, that was exactly what she discovered when her vision cleared, and her gaze settled on his face. Kassandra exhaled softly, not wishing to disturb Cullen from his rest or alert him that she studied his sleeping figure—a potential danger should he get the wrong idea. 

She allowed her eyes to wander, drinking in the finer details of his face from the sloping bridge of his nose to the patchy stubble darkening his chin, and slid down the faint lip scar. A face could tell a thousand stories, and she pondered what the lip scar might tell her about the man who was her husband to be. Above all, he seemed at peace, and Kassandra wondered if she had ever seen him look so calm before. It startled her yet lured her in closer. Already pulled against him by strong arms, Kassandra had nowhere to look but at his face… and she reconciled something odd.

She felt indescribable, utterly safe in his arms.

How she did not see it before was beyond her. Kassandra felt safe in his presence, his arms, under his watchful eye. She harbored no secretive feat that something horrid would befall her or suspected dark intentions of him, and she started the pattern of assuming the worst in everyone. No, he made her feel safer than she had in years—arguably, as safe as she did before her parents were killed, or her brothers were cruelly ripped from her arms by a useless war or an unsolved mystery that ate at her.

Nothing, no fear. Just peace.

However, she should have known her cursed luck would spoil a good thing too quickly. A sudden jerk from Cullen and his arms around Kassandra vanished, leaving the room less warm. She assumed that he was waking up and prepared to apologize for the unaware intrusion during their sleep. His features twisted up with pain, and a strained groan slipped through his unfiltered lips, scaring Kassandra.

She would know the signs of a nightmare anywhere.

She scrambled onto her knees when Cullen rolled himself away from her, ending up on his back, and started to fight against the blankets weighing him down. She frantically pressed a knee into his chest to pin him down and avoid straddling his lap uncomfortably. Her hands went to grab his wrists, keeping from getting hit by his wildly swinging arms. She gasped, “Cullen! Cullen! Wake up!”

Her pleas cracked through the nightmare’s grip and pulled Cullen from the darkness, startling him awake. His eyes flew open and a ragged gasp fell out, his body paralyzed when the world tumbled from whatever terror plagued his sleep. His chest heaved with breaths trying to escape, and eyes darted around, spotting the familiar markings of his bedroom and the sight of his Chosen hovering over him.

“Kassandra? What- What happened?” He coughed slightly and took in her sympathetic eyes that sent an embarrassed flush burning across his face. The room stilled, represented with the charred timber's pops sitting in the fireplace where the fire disappeared.

“You were having a nightmare, so I thought to wake you.” Kassandra dismounted her knee and let go of his wrists, letting Cullen sit up. She watched him dig his palms into his eyes and roughly rouse himself out of the panicked state of his nightmare. She had never seen him so afraid before, but it did not make her see him less than she did before. She gently reached out and touched his bicep with kind eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Cullen rubbed at his wrists, not speaking. He would rather not talk about it.

So, he moved past her and clambered out of bed, letting the sheet fall. Kassandra’s eyes fixated on his back, where more faded scars littered against his skin. Her eyes followed their trajectory down his body, and where they fell below the loose-fitting breeches that he wore to bed.

“We should prepare for the judgment. The sun has arisen at the horizon,” Cullen remarked, and Kassandra mutely nodded. That marked an end to her curious questioning, for now. They were prepared to start Snowfallson’s trial, and whatever punishment he should face would hardly constitute for all the suffering he caused and would have continued to cause should he have gotten away.

* * *

The throne room had never felt so full.

The early hour of the morning meant that few were up to witness the trial of Thane Baelr Snowfallson for his crimes against the Lions of Lion Claw Hold. No children were present on the virtue of the early hour, and most of the hold slept on, unaware of what transpired within their walls last night. Although, a few heard the wailing cries of Kassandra when the would-be captors snatched her. Those in attendance comprised of Cullen’s war council, the elders of the hold, and a few others who would return to their morning tasks.

The ambient chatter filling the room immediately stopped when a shackled Snowfallson entered the room, nudged forward by Delrin and Rylen. Both men wore their furs and painted faces, scowling at the piece of scum they dragged out from the dungeons to face the consequences. Cybele stood by the door leading into Kassandra and Cullen’s chambers, and she, with stiffened posture, prepared for the commencement of the trial.

“All rise for Thane Rutherford and Lady Kassandra!” Cybele announced, and all the Lions snapped to an attentive state, waiting with bated breath for Thane Rutherford and his Chosen to appear. And they did, arm in arm.

Dressed in his furs, cloak, and pulled up hood, Cullen barely stifled a growl at an unrepentant-looking Snowfallson shackled before the throne. On his side, Kassandra dressed in a gown from her recovered chest as a comforting gesture before she would face Snowfallson. The gown was modest, complete with a full skirt and long sleeves made from trimmed velvet in a deep red. The color reminded her of the bottles of vintage wine stashed away in her family estate’s cellar that she would sneak down to with the boy with the piercing blue eyes and the bowstring calloused hands and share stolen kisses between sips.

Her stoic expression soured when noticing the sneer of Snowfallson and she gripped Cullen’s bicep tighter, signaling to him that she felt uncomfortable. Not wanting to drag this out or force Kassandra to sit across from the bastard who wished her harm, Cullen sat down on his throne, and Kassandra chose to sit on the arm of his chair, finding a comfortable enough perch in a delicate balancing act.

“We gather at sunrise to confer judgment on Thane Baelr Snowfallson of Embrium Dragon Hold on charges of trespassing, unprovoked violence, and an unspeakable violation of our cultural traditions. He has continually committed disrespect against the people of Lion Claw Hold and shows no signs of stopping,” Cullen declared, turning into Thane Rutherford for those watching. He glowered at Snowfallson, “This becomes your final chance to plead for some mercy, Snowfallson.”

“If you want me to beg, you will be sorely disappointed. I regret nothing-” Snowfallson mustered up a smirk and disrespectfully spit at the foot of the throne, eliciting a reaction from the crowd. Cullen and Kassandra knew better and kept themselves in check. Snowfallson’s smirk faltered when he watched their unmoved expressions, and he huffed, “I would do it all again, for you have proven yourself to be weak and exposed your weakness to all. If your actions before were not enough, this farce would surely incite the blood feud you so desperately crave, Thane Rutherford. All for the lowlander whore.”

Kassandra’s shoulders pushed back, and the calm before the storm evaporated in her eyes, the striking shade of azure conjuring a haze, not unlike dark clouds belonging to the storm. She was growing exhausted with the business of demoting her to “lowlander” when she proved herself to be anything but an ordinary lowlander. She clenched her jaw, “I am Kassandra Trevelyan, Chosen to Thane Rutherford. It will do you better to learn my name and speak it with a semblance of respect before something tragic should befall your insubordination.”

“It seems that Snowfallson has made his choice, and I should wonder if he understands the gravity of what comes next. I am deferring judgment onto Kassandra. As the wounded party of this latest debacle, she should have the decision of how to handle Snowfallson’s transgressions. She is my Chosen and, as such, shall be unquestioned in her doling of punishment to Snowfallson. I surrender to her prudence and chosen form of justice.” Cullen declared, holding in his anger. He knew that he despised Snowfallson but that this was for Kassandra’s judgment and not his. She could have been hurt or worse, killed, during his botched snatching—and Cullen would send him straight to the Lady of the Skies if he had his way. 

Kassandra gracefully stepped down from the throne and dais, walking toward Snowfallson. She stopped before him and turned to Delrin and Rylen with a look unspoken. Yet, they understood her perfectly. Snowfallson growled as he ended up on his knees, forced there in another humiliating display of submission.

The members of Lion Claw Hold watched on as Kassandra stared down at him and drew her dagger from the sheath attached to her belt. The gleaming blade gripped between a steady hand, Kassandra studied the point and gave nothing away. Her audience expected that she would leave him with a creative scar, or the blade was meant to scare him from stepping foot near Lion Claw Hold ever again.

Kassandra hummed a forgotten lullaby when she dragged the blade around Snowfallson’s face, the action greatly unsettling him from how his eyes darted through the room. He found no sympathy in any onlooker’s gaze, and that left him under the influence of Kassandra Trevelyan.

Her other hand roughly pushed his jaw upward and let her thumb forcefully pry his lips open, resting on the curve of his lower lip. She could feel the questioning stares, but she would take her time. She had a plan and would see it through. She clicked her tongue with disappointment, “You were warned once, you and your men. Thane Rutherford gave you an opportunity, and what do you do? You treat me like I am a prize to be won in a game I cannot play when that is the furthest thing from the truth. I, Thane Snowfallson, am his chosen equal—he and I are linked together by Gods' will. Your audacity will make a mockery of you, and that thoughtless tongue of yours does you no favors.”

Before anyone could blink, Kassandra moved with the efficiency of a lightning strike—deadly and precise. The hand parting his lips had invaded his mouth and pried it open to pull out his tongue. Snowfallson started to struggle, but no amount of fighting would save him from a swift slice. Then, pain.

Snowfallson crumpled forward, blood dripping through his parted lips. Kassandra held up Snowfallson’s severed tongue for viewing; she looked emotionless when seeing Snowfallson shrink into himself and mouth, desperate for any noise to come out. The pain swallowed him up and left nothing in its wake. ~~~~

Kassandra bared her teeth in a taunt as she dragged the blade along his face, smearing the blood against his skin with the flat side of the dagger. She stopped at the pulse point where she rested the dagger, prepared to pierce the flesh at a given moment or movement from Snowfallson. He remained perfectly still as Kassandra suppressed a dark chuckled and hardened her gaze with the rage she and Cullen collectively felt toward this man, “Take him out and discard him at the edge of our territory, let him return to his people as a failure. He shall serve as a reminder that trespassing against Lion Claw Hold will bring death and ruin upon those foolish enough to try. Your loss is a warning, one that I shall not repeat. The next offense happens, and I will burn down your village with my bare hands. Consider this an act of mercy that I spare your life today.”

She retracted the dagger, tucking it back into her sheath. Spinning away, she approached the hold beast and held the tongue out to it—a treat. As she glanced over her shoulder and deliberately connected her eyes with Snowfallson’s, those in attendance watched as the lion ate the tongue out of her palm. She smirked when the lion’s padded tongue lapped her hand clean.

“Lady Kassandra has spoken. The trial is over,” Cullen declared, rising from his throne, and those in attendance nodded. With his expressed permission, Snowfallson was dragged from the audience, and Kassandra relished in the horror seizing Snowfallson—forever muted for his impetuous tongue and disregard for tradition. The members of Lion Claw Hold respectfully bowed to Cullen and Kassandra before leaving the room, trickling out in a mass exodus. Only Kassandra and Cullen would remain as even the hold beast was escorted back to the arena by the designated handlers.

“Cullen, are you satisfied with the punishment given to Snowfallson?” Cullen turned around upon Kassandra’s question, seeing her pace around the room's outer ring where she dragged her fingers across the stone walls. She passed unflinchingly by the torches and their flames, deeply in thought.

“Are you? Personally, I would hardly flinch if you decided to castrate the man on the spot or carve out his entrails with a rusty spoon. So, I find you likely have more of an opinion on the matter.” Cullen admitted, with his brow raised. Silence lingered on between him and Kassandra, punctuated by her footsteps as she finished her circle around the room. She ended up right where she started, next to him.

“Immensely,” Kassandra replied, refusing to cave to the smile that arose when recalling Snowfallson’s pain. It felt unbecoming of her to relish in another’s suffering, ugly and twisted. Yet, it had been done to her so long that there started a wicked sort of emotional catharsis for the seed of misery sown into her heart. “However, I understand that my actions do not exist outside consequences—ones that encompass you, I, and the entirety of Lion Claw Hold. When I ask your satisfaction, I ask if you believe our people will view such judgment favorably. Should we have killed him outright, should we have opted for less dramatic scarring, or did we find the acceptable middle ground?”

Cullen sighed quietly, stepping down from his throne. He met her eyes, “Kassandra, I chose for you to render judgment, for you have a far more level head than I, even after all that has transpired. Your questioning proves it so that you do not act purely for the satiation or personal gratification for gruesome, violent revenge.”

“I see. Then, I appreciate your faith in me, Cullen.” Kassandra heeded his words as if they were the gospel, seeing no reason for him to lie to her. His honesty felt refreshing for a change. Cullen nodded in acknowledgment.

“We are a team working together in the best interest of our people. Unified, we stand together… But enough about Snowfallson or his ilk. We have other pressing matters to attend to, and I wanted to present you with something special-” He held up a hand, instructing her to wait as he slipped into their chambers and missed the cock of her head. He returned momentarily, and Kassandra’s eyes fell on the ornately crafted hilt sticking out of the fine leather sheath, knowing exactly what was inside.

She felt her breath catch as Cullen removed the sword from the sheath, and she could gaze upon it in all its breathtaking glory. A hilt shaped from dragon bone felt coarse under her grip, and she marveled at the lion’s head carved at the bottom of the hilt. The white silver color gave way to a dark purple-black, angular sword blade that came from a molten mixture of everite and silverite, two metals frequently found in the Basin. Kassandra’s eyes landed on the markings of blue with unabashed perplexity, unsure of what they were but enamored with their soft glow, nonetheless. Cullen knew the blue to be runes, crafted by the delicate and knowledgeable hands of Quari with storm magic. 

He commissioned the hold’s blacksmith to make Kassandra a sword worthy of a Thane’s Chosen, and the man delivered, handing the sword off to him the night prior. He planned on bestowing it to her then, but circumstances pushed it off until after the judgment of Snowfallson.

Kassandra held her arms open for Cullen to lay it onto her palms. She tore her gaze away long enough to meet his eyes, and Cullen could see them sparkling, “This is for me?”

“I believed it fitting that the Lady of the Hold should have a weapon to call her own, and this is as beautiful as it is deadly—uh, much like yourself.” Rubbing at the back of his neck, Cullen nearly winced uncomfortably when stumbling over himself. The explanation was straightforward and nothing more than a practical measure, strictly business. Yet, he could not deny that he wished to please her with such a gift, believing that she must hold refined tastes for swords. Kassandra, stuck with an awestruck expression, smoothly turned it, and the point of the blade faced skyward.

“Thank you for this exquisite gift.” She whispered, admiring the blade with attentive eyes. Every detail cataloged itself in her mind, and she could not deny the fine craftsmanship poured over her new sword. Cullen watched her for any sign of disappointment or delayed reaction, other than stunned. He got one when she smiled tenderly before looking to him, clearly in high spirits. She cleared her throat, “If it suits you, I should be heading off to meet with Persephone and Quari.”

Kassandra tucked the sword into its sheath and slipped it into the narrow space between the dip in her waist and the belt she wore. The modified hold would do temporarily, and she planned to affix it to the belt properly later on. Cullen nodded, and Kassandra departed from the room.


	12. The Midnight War

The judgment of Snowfallson did not end when he ended up cast out among the edge of the trees, rendered mute and stripped of his pride. On the contrary, it had just begun.

Kassandra's warning undoubtedly caused a shock when news reached the holds of the local clans in the area, proceeding with an undeniable ripple effect. Although no contestations came from neighboring clans as the situation proved Kassandra and Cullen within their right to punish Snowfallson, protecting them from the judgment against them.

However, Embrium Dragon Hold did not sit and accept the verdict with any kindness or humility in their defeated endeavor. The mutilated sight of their beloved Thane, forever silenced by the woman with the blue fire eyes, enraged the masses. The warriors took up their weapons and harnessed their rage into a rumbling battle cry. Before, they wanted to take Kassandra as a show of their strength, but she became a dangerous enemy. So, they changed their desire.

They wanted Kassandra’s head for their prize.

Cullen, refusing to let any harm befall her, assigned a continuous rotation of at least three guards to accompany her wherever and whenever he could not. Those guards would remain armed, and all of them would carry an extra weapon for Kassandra should she find herself unarmed or unprepared for a fight. Embrium Dragon Hold proved they were capable of anything, thereby encouraging Lion Claw Hold to show their willingness to protect one of theirs. Lady Kassandra would not be taken from them or Thane Rutherford, so long as the Gods see fit. The strength of their faith held against the sea of doubt as Cullen believed the Gods gave Kassandra to him with their divine providence, and he did not think they would take her from him for her role was too important.

Standing around the throne room with his council and Kassandra by his side, newly allowed to attend the meetings for her prudence, Cullen pounded a closed fist against the table’s edge and drew the attention of his war council. He sighed, “The scouts have informed me that we should expect to see Dragons attempting to breach our gates within the next day or less. We have long-prepared for a frontal attack of this nature, but I want to be assured that our forces are prepared to fight at a moment’s notice.”

“We are ready, my Thane. Our armory is full, our warriors determined, and our magic strong—we have prepared for this for years.” Delrin affirmed, thumping his hand twice against his chest, and Cullen reciprocated the gesture.

Kassandra glanced between them, not knowing why everyone appeared calm until then. She knew that the supply of weapons, armor, and supplies did not easily amass overnight and suggested this had been coming for quite some time, “Exactly, how long have we been prepared for a potential invasion or physical threat from the Dragons?”

“Ages. The Embrium Dragons have indulged terrorizing for sport. They crudely pick a fight every few months with some tribe or violate the rules, but none of the tribes chose to push back against their terror… until now.” Persephone muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the prospect of war. Truthfully, none standing around the table wished it would come to this, but the line was drawn and none of them would let the Dragons get away with their behavior.

“Aye, cowards! All of ‘em take th’ knee-” Farah mentioned her two cents, giving a sneer. Kassandra had become accustomed to Farah’s boundless optimism and her smiles, which left a jarring taste on her tongue. Bitterness with all the sweetness of a poisoned dagger, the truth spoke volumes through the swift, honest tongue. Cullen huffed from his place beside Kassandra, but she saw that his eyes did not contest the story Farah told her.

“Their legacy of torment long precedes Thane Snowfallson, you, I, or anyone else within this room,” Cullen explained succinctly, and Kassandra nodded, swallowing thickly.

“The previous Thane, Erabon Mountainstone, clashed with their former Thane before the Embrium Dragons ousted the man for Snowfallson. Their clan and ours are destined for bloodshed, it seems unless we figure a bloodless resolution without succumbing to their demands.” Rylen added, and that appeared to be the final straw for Cullen, who gruffly growled.

“But the stretch of time has yet to provide the answers we seek, and I find us backed into a corner and fighting the war stands as our sole escape.” Cullen mused, plunging the room into a grim silence. None of them wished to admit fear or defeat, but their options were limited regarding how they might win the battle.

Kassandra leaned forward against the table when she remembered something important, “What about the other tribes? Would not their behavior constitute intimidation and pose a potential future risk to them?” Her suggestion spurred the intrigue of the council, but ultimately Cullen would decide about invoking outsider help.

He did not outright dismiss the suggestion, seeing the potential there. He managed a hum, a sign that he was listening. “You believe that we could convince them to risk lives or expend resources to fight in our battles?”

Kassandra bit back a wicked smirk, the one that screamed she was up to no good. Her whole life training doubled as a diplomat, and she knew that she could “Leave me in a room with them, and I believe that I can bring them into the fold.”

“I have no doubts that you might persuade their better sensibilities into helping-”

“Thane Rutherford!” A harried scout rushed into the meeting, sinking to a knee before Thane Rutherford and the council stiffened with anticipation. A scout meant a warning, which meant a sighting of the Embrium Dragons on the horizon. The scout glanced up, her hood casting shadows over her face, “Embrium Dragon forces have congregated outside of the gate with weapons drawn and armor. There appears to be a woman leading them, lithe and fair-haired. She approached the guards unarmed and requested for a discussion with you and Lady Kassandra, my Thane.”

“Thane Rutherford, where do you need us?” A previously silent Cybele questioned, snapping the focus back on the danger waiting outside of their gates and bent on bloodshed. The next battle arrived without fanfare or pre-warning, and that would serve to scare any other leader. However, Cullen Rutherford was no “other” leader.

“We must assemble our troops. Farah, I entrust you to rally every able man or woman to our cause and arm them for a battle. Cybele, you shall gather the mages to cast a blessing over our warriors and send some to join the fight. You stay with our children, those unable to fight, and protect them with the other remaining mages. You shall be our final line of defense. Persephone, Delrin, and Rylen—you three shall accompany Kassandra and me down to the gates as to survey the threat we are up against.” Cullen decided, not wasting a spare moment to chance. He assumed that someone like Quari stood with the guards at the gates to hold back any daring Dragons itching to cut their teeth on capturing Kassandra by any means. He did not wish to leave her alone to face the danger.

Cullen and Kassandra turned to each other, linked arms, and prepared themselves for an onslaught of danger when crossing the gates. A second invasion onto their territory would not be tolerated and justly punished, as promised during Snowfallson’s judgment. Their descent down to the gates saw a quiet spell push itself between the two of them, despite the presence of nerves sparking from their rigid postures. The small entourage trailing behind exchanged wary glances at their leaders’ reactions to the march toward danger. Seeing Lady Kassandra and Thane Rutherford unshakably calm unsettled them down to their bones, for they knew the calm façade covered the vengeful kiss of wrath waiting to be unleashed.

The gates encroached into view, and Cullen spotted the sizable number of Embrium Dragons, all marked with red paint underneath their furs and leathers, and he felt a growl escape him. Rage funneled through his body, but a wordless squeeze of his arm drew his gaze onto Kassandra beside him. Her eyes remained straight ahead, but she felt his physical manifestation of the anger they all collectively carried atop their shoulders toward the mess. Anger was easy. Fighting beckoned them like a siren’s song that cried for a sacrifice in blood, ruined lives, and the same endless cycle of violence that brought them to the present circumstances.

However, they were better than mindless violence or provocation for a fight they might badly lose; they would not cower but would not make fools of strong hearts and sharp minds.

Kassandra and Cullen spotted the mysterious woman standing at the forefront of the forces, placed in direct view of them and watching their arrival with narrowed eyes. The air felt rife with tension. Quari, who stood between the Dragons and the gates, clutched onto her staff and kept a firm eye on the intruders. Rylen calmly pulled her back as Kassandra and Cullen replaced her and glared out at the crowd.

The woman stepped forward, and Kassandra heard the guards drawing their weapons behind her, preparing for a fight. She held up her hand, drawing stillness and the attention of the Dragons. Kassandra took one look, and she knew; this woman was their leader.

Her hair gleamed near white under the moonlight slipping through the darkened tree canopy, covering her angular face and flowing down her strong shoulders. She sat a full head taller than Kassandra, close to Cullen’s height. Between two eyes, one light green and one soft brown, she examined the two for the guilty party, the one she would make pay-

“I am Damiana Snowfallson. I have come to negotiate with Thane Rutherford and his Chosen for their judgment over my husband.” She introduced herself with no formality. Her serenity felt off-putting, and Kassandra suspected anger lurked beneath the surface. She would feel similarly if her beloved husband returned with his tongue severed and abandoned by his men.

Cullen started to walk forward, planning on handling her. He wished to suffer no more of their follies and would demand they leave, or tragedy would befall them from all local tribes. A pact was a pact; he expected his neighbors to uphold their promise to come to his aid for this slight. However, Cullen stopped when Kassandra held her arm out—hand pressed to his chest—and stopped him.

“Allow me,” She whispered to him, meeting his eyes and noticing their flash of concern. Cullen frowned, immediate disapproval flaring up, but Kassandra’s gaze kept him in check. He was listening—she needed to convince him. She glanced both ways before whispering, “I am the one responsible for her husband. She likely wants to deal with me.”

Cullen, although reluctant, stepped back and let her go forward. Kassandra appreciatively bowed her head before she walked toward Damiana, unafraid of the hostile eyes of the Dragons lined up in front of her. As Kassandra approached, Damiana took a closer look at her expression, which gave her great pause. Then, realization when she stared into the unapologetic depths of Kassandra’s striking azure eyes.

“You- You were the one who sliced out my husband’s tongue,” Damiana gasped angrily, recognizing Kass by her eyes. She heard whispers from the men who held the misfortune of angering the newest Lion of Lion Claw Hold and the men, who could free the words from the fear gripping their tongues, spewed nonsense about a wrathful warrior with dark hair of the trees and blue eyes that neither suited sea nor sky. She did not understand their incoherence about what or who happened to her husband until then.

“I am,” Kassandra declared, unafraid of the consequences of her choice. She made a judgment call and spared his life but refused to let him leave without paying for his choices. She gave him more mercy than a piece of scum like he deserved.

“Then, you are the one I wish to deal with. You shall pay for your unwarranted attack on us and our untainted honor-” Damiana declared in exaggerated outrage to win the approval of her men, which Kassandra saw for what it was. She scoffed, and the interruption earned her jeers from the Embrium Dragons and visible ire from Damiana.

“He showed up at our gates with a proposition that offended Thane Rutherford’s sensibilities: he asked for me, in exchange for a price. He acted like I was everything he wanted: young, beautiful, and an untouched conquest that he could push into submission. A perfect toy to break in—but we refused. I vocalized my displeasure and demanded he cease his declarations of demoralization, turn his attentions elsewhere.” Kassandra clarified, suffering no tolerance for arrogant lies or fools. She narrowed her eyes and watched Damiana’s face flash with varying levels of offense. Her rigid stance of attack lessened, and Kassandra could see in her eyes that such a fact startled her.

“I still wish to right the wrong you have slighted against us,” Damiana remarked, regaining her composure lost in the wake of Kassandra’s revelation. She bristled uncomfortably and angrily, “Are you honorable enough to accept that?”

Kassandra surveyed the faces of the crowd gathered behind Damiana, and she, although reluctant to humor these endless requests for leniency, nodded. It would be better to satiate a foolish request than outright attack her foes; she knew her patience would hold. “Name your challenge.”

Damiana glanced to the rows of warriors lined behind her, who began shouting various suggestions for what to do as a challenge or punishments to exact on Kassandra, each more gruesome than the last. Kassandra glanced to Cullen and the Lions, taking in their solemn yet steady expressions of solidarity. Cullen appeared disgusted, infuriated with the endless suggestions hurled from the onlooking Dragons with glee. _Was this a game to them? Did they figure some enjoyment into starting blood feuds and possibly losing their lives?_

“A duel. You and I, alone.” Damiana remarked, earning Kassandra’s intrigued stare. She did not know whether Damiana heard of her reputation, but she did not consider it expedient to correct her otherwise. She watched the Dragons murmuring with approval through their ranks. “If you emerge triumphantly, Embrium Dragon Hold shall leave and never return, leaving you and your people alone forever. If I emerge triumphantly, I shall deliver you the unjust punishment you imposed on my husband—severing your tongue or some equally heinous disfigurement of my choice.”

“I accept those terms.”

Kassandra’s swift agreement spurred conflicting reactions of jeers from some Dragons, approval from others about the prospect of a battle, and something indescribably protective from her Lions. She glanced over her shoulder and met eyes with Cullen, who begrudgingly sighed.

“We have a challenge with the terms established. May the Gods crown the victor!” Cullen proclaimed, and the two women faced each other. Kassandra drew her sword from the sheath and twirled it, not prepared to lose. She steeled her courage with a breath and waited as Damiana sprinted at her, full-speed ahead.

A fearsome battle cry echoed off the trees, followed by the distinct clash of iron against the everite and silverite blessing. Kassandra swore she smelt the crackle of ozone radiating from her sword and pushed back against Damiana, hovering above her, throwing her off-kilter. She leaped forward, taking the offensive without hesitation and the tide of the battle shifted in her favor. While Damiana towered over her, she simply could not react fast enough to parry Kassandra’s attacks or level those of her own, barely fending off.

First blood from the shoulder, tricking down her exposed skin and mixing in with her furs. Damiana barely had a breath to hiss before the second blow sliced another would on her opposite shoulder. Kassandra moved like a blur, a shadow in the night. She channeled the fire stoking away in her heart after she was kidnapped by Snowfallson. She refused to stop or yield.

Her decisive swift actions quickly overwhelmed Damiana, and, as soon as it had begun, Kassandra found her sword pressed against Damiana’s neck from where she loomed behind her. She pressed the blade in, demanding the yield. The fight was over; she won.

Damiana attempted to protest, thrashing around wildly, hoping to shake Kassandra from her to no avail. Kassandra pressed the blade tighter into her neck, and her demand remained. Before a yield would ever leave Damiana’s lips, several yells erupted from the Embrium Dragon ranks, and Kassandra glanced over her shoulder to see a group of soldiers break formation and race toward her. She narrowed her eyes; they were trying to win by any means necessary.

They planned to stage an attack.

Kassandra hissed, shoving Damiana forward, not watching her hit the ground before Kassandra stopped an incoming attack on her. The field descended into chaos as Cullen, Rylen, Delrin, and the newly arrived Lions sprinted out to join their Lady. The mages lined up with Quari and Cybele standing ahead of them and charged their energies for fury to rain down from behind the gates.

Blood, screams, and the clash of swords—the once agreed upon duel transformed into vengeful, calculated anarchy. The Embrium Dragons did not plan to surrender, not once.

The opposing forces clashed, but none of the Embrium Dragons seemed prepared for the holy terror that was an angered Lady Kassandra Divina Ariella Trevelyan of Lion Claw Hold. She ripped through her opponents with ferocity and a taste for blood. She left a trail of bodies in her wake, and, as much as some warriors tried to avoid her, one was doomed when she set her sights on them.

Lion Claw Hold had the numbers and the power to fight back. The surprise attack was short-lived as the tide swung in favor of the Lions. Damiana whirled around to see that her men were outnumbered and at risk to fall on the winter night, and so she exclaimed, “Retreat!”

Upon her cries, the Dragons disengaged from their battles and sprinted for the trees with Damiana behind them, but Cullen refused to let her escape without a fight. He raced forward and caught her by the arm, keeping her back. In her eyes, the wild panic of a spooked halla, and she reacted with a flash of malice. She pulled out her dagger and pushed forward, burying the blade deep into Cullen’s side—striking right below the ribs.

Cullen’s grip on her released, and she fled into the night, sprinting away from the bark of pain escaping Cullen’s lips. Kassandra’s head whipped to the side as she gutted through the young, foolish foot soldier who dared to challenge her. Her eyes widened, “Cullen!”

She rushed across the field, dodging around the dead bodies to reach Cullen, who fell to his knees. She cradled him, lay him down to better examine the wound. She stared at the dagger plunged into his side and pulled her fingers back, revealing the sticky red of blood. She felt her throat constrict and cupped at Cullen’s face. He grimaced, “Lions, go- Stop-”

“Persephone!” Kassandra bellowed, and Persephone nimbly approached from through the gates. Alongside her, Delrin and Rylen were directly behind her with concerns. They saw Kassandra holding Cullen but noticed the dagger in his side for the first time; the chaos of the wild attack caught them unprepared, and Cullen suffered for their mistake. She looked at them, “He needs medical attention, now. Not a moment to waste!”

Several of the nearby, uninjured men hustled across the battlefield to their side. Kassandra’s instructions rang across the clearing, and they knelt down with Delrin and Rylen to pick up their Thane. Cullen grit his teeth to avoid screaming as he was carried back through the gates. Kassandra’s eyes were locked onto the floor, where she saw the few bodies of those they lost among the dozens of Embrium Dragons she slew.

All eyes were on her.

“My lady, what should we do?” Quari asked, glancing to the processional of men carting Thane Rutherford to the infirmary and Persephone sprinting ahead of them with the swiftness of foot belonging to a fennec. Shocked barely covered the ashen, woeful expressions in the absence of their beloved Thane and Kassandra turned toward the rolling foothills of the Frostback Mountains, staring out to where Damiana and her Dragons fled like cowards into the night.

Her first instinct, simmering with rage, screamed at her to give chase after them, swarm them at the foot of the mountains, and slaughter them where they stood. However, such a course of action would defy peace accords for atrocities committed on shared lands, and they stood to face scrutiny should they retaliate so recklessly.

But damned be the Gods if she waited for another attack on their territory to justify a fight back, and she knew the people would not accept such a defeatist response to an attack on one of their own.

Kassandra closed her eyes and faced the night sky, exhaling deeply. She had a plan, a dangerous and possibly risky one. But watching Cullen’s face scrunched in pain and his stifled gasps to hide how much pain burned through his veins ailed her. It would be marred into her memory, burned there with cruel taunting as she waited for him to fight.

She owed it to Cullen to do this, and that is why she planned a midnight war—a conversion upon their lands and a raid to end in the destruction of their trespasses.

“We live to fight another day. Believe me when I say that I shall lead us to retribution. Embrium Dragons refused to learn the example I made of Thane Snowfallson, so I shall keep my promise. We march tomorrow morning at dawn!” Kassandra declared, rallying the Lions to arms with a rousing speech that sent roars of agreement rippling through their ranks. Her eyes burned with fire, and she felt the call of the wild blossom into her heart.

Revenge was a twisted game to play, but she was an expert at it.


	13. A World on Fire

Kassandra refused to sleep.

She could not, not when a battle called her name over the horizon to avenge what should have been the end of their troubles with the Embrium Dragons. However, underhanded deceit would not win the battle, nor would such foolishness earn toleration from her. Kassandra resolved that she would fight, and it seemed her dedication to Cullen earned her numbers of loyal warriors.

In the aftermath of the unexpected battle, the heat of everyone’s hopeful eyes on her felt a responsibility she did not fully earn. Yet, she accepted to preserve order within the hold. She reassured her Lions that not all was lost on this night and that they lived to fight another day.

However, she left her declarations of war at the door as she entered the Kassandra decided silence fit the best course of action as she sat next to him. She occupied as little space on the cot as Persephone approached, bearing the materials for sutures.

Persephone frowned at him, knowing she would operate in the dim lighting. Although she performed plenty of emergency sutures in pitch darkness, she knew the sight did not inspire confidence. Readying her reliable, steady hands, she looked between Cullen and Kassandra seated on the opposite side of the cot. “Apologies, my Thane. These shall sting, but would you rather I craft a potion-”

“Sew the wound shut first,” Cullen ordered through gritted teeth, screwing his eyes shut and pacing himself between drawn-out breathing. Pain seemed the first emotion he refused to show, especially with Kassandra looking on. He refused her pity or anyone’s pity for that matter. He tried to focus on the faint tickle of the nearby hearth on his face and exposed torso or how he could feel Kassandra’s presence from her place beside him. He mused, “It cannot possibly hurt more than getting stabbed.”

“I cannot promise that, my Thane,” Persephone replied and began her diligent work of sewing the broken skin back together. She already cleaned the wound and would have administered an elixir to numb the inevitable pain from her procedure or the residual from the wound, but she did not have any ready-made on hand.

As expected, Cullen fiercely bit back groans, but his face grimaced and contorted with agony. The piercing of the thread through bloodied, broken skin and touched with fire agonized him where words failed him. He tried his best to avoid thrashing or pushing away from Persephone’s delicate hands, knowing she was doing her best to make the endeavor painless.

Kassandra, seeing Cullen struggling, quickly reached out and slipped her hand with his. She laced their fingers together and watched as Cullen’s eyes flew open with surprise. His attention jumped down to their interlaced hands and witnessed as Kassandra added her second hand to encompass his hand in comforting warmth. Her gentle squeeze diverted his attention onto her, studying her face.

While Persephone worked to repair the wound, Cullen focused his eyes on Kassandra’s expression of paradoxical dichotomy. While her expression remained neutral, her eyes sparkled with a sort of kindness for his pain and his plight. He barely noticed when Persephone stepped back from his prone body with empty hands or the neatly assembled sutures over the wound.

“It is done,” Persephone declared, wiping her hands clean along her skirt, and she stepped back from her fallen Thane. She turned to Kassandra, seeing as the Thane’s eyes begin to flutter slowly, and expected the sleeping agent to overtake him. “My lady, I expect Thane Rutherford to make a full recovery, but the dagger embedded itself deep. It pierced the muscle and sinew of his body, and that severely limits his activity. I recommend at least a week of unmoving rest in the infirmary for observation to avoid ailments occurring after. Then he may spend another week or two in your chambers to rest. After said point, he would be allowed to move and complete basic tasks with supervision and guidance. His recovery, if following my instructions, shall heal him over within a month.”

Kassandra laced her hands together on her lap, as Cullen’s hand limply retracted from hers when the suturing finished, “Should we hold off our plans then?”

“No, my lady. You may proceed with the raid, but you must be the one to take full charge of the Lions. You are our leader while the Thane recovers.” Persephone explained, giving Kassandra a look of sympathy. Her position was not one she envied, but she expected that Kassandra would conduct herself with the utmost grace.

“I understand,” Kassandra nodded, confirming what she long suspected. She knew the burden of leadership like she knew the jagged ridges of her heart. “Then, I shall strategize with Delrin and Rylen come the first pinks of the morning horizon about our plans.”

“My lady, will you send Delrin and Rylen with forces to converge on Embrium Dragon Hold’s territory? Will Farah be going with them or the Lions that accompany them?” Persephone inquired, obviously frightened by that prospect. Kassandra recalled the closeness of the two women, and she understood the concerns of the soft-spoken elf on whether or not her lover would survive.

“No, she shall stay here with you and Cybele because I trust her to keep order while I am gone.” Kassandra declared, and any momentary relief from her or calmness from Cullen evaporate at her statement’s implication.

“My lady, you plan to go?” Persephone’s scandalized gasp encapsulated the uncomfortable tension that rolled over the room. Kassandra refused to deny her intentions, nor did she see the need to justify them. What other choice did they have?

“I do-” A gruff grunt beside her brought Kassandra’s attention back onto Cullen, who appeared to be fighting against the drowsiness from the elixir forced down his throat. He hated the damned things to the Gods anyway.

“Kassandra, that is madness,” Cullen heaved, feeling the heaviness of his chest crushing down upon his words. He knew that she willingly walked into danger, one she might not escape from alive. Entering their territory offered the Dragons the freedom to do as they wished, and their intentions spelled out death in her future. He coughed, “You cannot go and openly make yourself a target. I demand you stay back and forget this fight. I cannot- I do not want you harmed.”

“Why not? You will be here, recovering. I plan to have Cybele, Farah, Quari, and Persephone keep a firm eye on your recovery and effectively govern the hold while I am gone. I believe they are up to the task for two weeks.” Kassandra reasoned, not seeing why she should stay. She would not send Lions into harm if she was too afraid to go alongside them. She was no coward, nor did she believe they deserved to fight on her behalf while she hid behind protected walls.

“You could be killed!” Cullen exclaimed, attempting to sit himself up and hold a more persuasive stance. His efforts were met with a hushed scolding from Persephone, pain shooting up his abdomen, and struggles to move from the pain. Kassandra frowned softly at him, appreciating his concern. However, he knew they had no choice. Surrendering made them appear vulnerable, willing to be walked over by this tribe, which had spent years terrorizing those who did them no harm. That needed to end, and she knew it should end with her.

“I refuse to let them get away with breaking the oath we made for the challenge. I won fairly, and they spit again in the face of honor and tradition. I believe this to be how they shall learn not to trespass against our people. We do not take their disruption or petty slights lightly, and therefore, we must fight.”

“I cannot stop you from going,” Cullen relented with a heavy sigh, knowing he would not win the battle of wills on this night. He worried about how such a plan might end badly should an ambitious attack turn from one misstep but understood that Kassandra might see an opportunity where his limited view of the situation faltered. He entrusted her to be his Chosen, and destiny would guide her to success should it be written in the stars. He believed that. His eyes met Kassandra’s from where he laid, “I ask that you return to me, bring us victory if you can, but the lives of our men matter more than some ideological fool’s errand.”

“I plan on bringing Lions back home unharmed, Cullen. You have my word.”

* * *

The night of the raid arrived.

Two weeks slipped through their fingers as Kassandra lead a sizable force of her Lions through the Basin. Guided by Delrin, who expertly knew the terrain, the Lions of Lion Claw Hold marched during the day and rested during the night to conserve their energy. Kassandra strategized their tactics with Rylen and Delrin during the dawn, and she demanded their honest input, refusing to lose people for a botched raid attempt.

Hiding within the shadows among the trees, Kassandra sat with her fighters in the wings and held their breath in the darkness of the night. They spent hours lying in wait for the precise moment to strike, knowing they would need the dead of night to enact their plan.

“My lady, the archers and mages are ready,” Rylen whispered to her as he approached Kassandra, kneeling at the edge of their hiding spot. She refused to be impatient or brash in her planning, determined to see this raid through to its bitter end.

“How about the warriors?”

Rylen confirmed with a slight smirk, “They await your signal.” His words elicited a pleased reaction for Kassandra, rising onto her feet.

“Excellent. Place the darts in position. It appears the guards run the risk of nodding off.” Kassandra nodded her head at the guards flanking the gates, revealing one of them to be falling asleep at their post. Rylen thumped his closed fist against his chest before racing to position the two archers armed with medicated darts, intending to knock out the guards and keep them out of the way.

Kassandra waited and raised her hand above her head, drawing the attention of the Lions onto her. In the silence of the night, not even a stray breath could be heard as they watched for her signal to go. Her troops were small but effective in their numbers as the intention became to eliminate Snowfallson, destroy their morale, and escape into the night.

She closed her eyes and clenched her fist, the signal to move. Upon her go, two darts shot out from the trees and pierced the necks of the guards. The fast-acting sleep potion entered their bodies and caused them to slump forward, unconscious. Together, Kassandra and her Lions filtered out of the trees without a loud cry.

They would make their presence known by fire.

Reliable information told Kassandra that the first several buildings housed essential supplies such as medicines, stored foods, and their armories. The adults were scattered through the village while all the children were lumped together in one building further into the village. Kassandra would avoid innocent villagers and children's deaths whenever possible, opting to destroy their supplies. Cut them off from their sustainability to survive, and they were rendered a toothless dragon, unable to deal with their needs or start an unnecessary conflict.

Her Lions marched into formation with the archers fanned out in a semi-circle flanking her, the mages spread between them and the armed warriors prepared to charge into the fray. Kassandra remained ahead with Delrin and Rylen on opposite ends of the formation to relay messages between her and the troops.

The mages of Lion Claw Hold mustered their collective energies and directed flames to the buildings on the edge of the sleeping village. Their reign of fire quickly enraptured the flammable materials, and smoke filled the air, stirring the sleeping village. The smell of metal melting, food going up into smoke, and the loss of highly flammable potions alerted those of Embrium Dragon Hold that something was wrong.

Screams arose out of the buildings, and wide-eyed, yet half-asleep Dragons scattered from their homes, met with the fearsome sight of Lions standing among the flames rapidly consuming their precious village and carrying death on their shoulders.

Their terror summoned out those in the main hut standing across from Kassandra, which included Thane Snowfallson and Damiana in their sleep attire. They spotted Kassandra, standing unflinchingly among the chaos and the shadows standing behind her as her line of defense. The fire raged on, Dragons descended into fear, and that set the stage for the fight destined to unfurl between a Thane and his rival’s Chosen.

Snowfallson narrowed his eyes, snatching a weapon from one guard standing beside him. He raced forward, intending to confront Kassandra for her blatant attack on his hold. She stood, beckoning him to come as she knew it would signal his demise. As soon as Snowfallson crossed the marked threshold, Kassandra signaled for the surprise to Delrin.

“Fire!” Delrin exclaimed, and several archers produced small orbs filled with lantern fuel and threw them behind Snowfallson. The orbs cracked on the ground and spilled the lantern oil onto the stone, leaving space for the few mages who joined for the raid to summon fire. The result? A nearly ten-foot-tall wall of flame standing between Snowfallson and the Lions and any help, leaving Snowfallson effectively stranded and marked for his demise.

It was only her and him, now.

Snowfallson unsheathed his sword and raised it high, sprinting toward Kassandra with hatred simmering in his eyes. However, the smirk on Kassandra’s face should have told him to plead for her mercy. She, without even blinking, parried his attack and slammed her armored elbow into his face.

Snowfallson dared to make the same mistake twice, charging for her again. This time, Kassandra dodged the swing and swept his foot out from underneath him. She watched him lose his sword with a clatter against the stone ground and hit the stone himself, wincing silently. She, overwhelmed with rage, refused to stand there and wait for him to rise. He did not deserve the privilege of respect after his Dragons broke a sacred battle, the oath of the Avvar people.

“Get up and fight me! I refuse to let you off easily-” Kassandra declared, kicking him squarely in the abdomen, keeling Snowfallson over. Blood trickled down his nose from the brute strength of her elbow slam, and he appeared worn-down.

“Get him, my lady!” An unknown Lion shouted from the side, and their declaration sparked a chant in unison for Kassandra to handle Snowfallson, once and for all. She had little tolerance for his theatrics or disrespect for her, Lion Claw Hold, and Cullen. This mockery ended with her. She leaned down and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him onto his feet.

Snowfallson loomed over her, but his stature did not intimidate her as she held the high ground. Their eyes met, and in the depths of her blue, Snowfallson panicked to see what he could only believe was what death looked like. Kassandra glowed ethereally in the firelight, and her righteous fury made him reconsider whether the Lady of the Skies—the harbinger of Death—existed within her mortal vessel, for how her eyes drained the life from his limp body.

Kassandra’s hand ensnared his throat, crushing his breath, and leaving a pause for the Embrium Dragons and her Lions to witness her run Snowfallson through with her blade. She cleanly split him open with the efficiency of gutting a fish, seemingly taking no pleasure in dealing with him. She growled while twisting the blade tighter, “I made an oath to the Gods that if you showed your face or encouraged your men to come into our home, I would burn your whole village to the ground. I keep all promises I make-” 

Snowfallson gurgled pathetically, and Kassandra, without warning, planted her boot against his chest and shoved his mutilated body from her blade. That sealed Snowfallson’s fate and he laid unmoving, in a puddle of his blood and revealed entrails.

“It is done! Lions, we retreat!” Kassandra roared commandingly and swiftly turned heel, sprinting for the gates. She heard the thumping of boots behind her and knew that the fire divided the Dragons from giving chase, and those boots belonged to her Lions. As they broke through the trees and into the clearing that marked free territory, several loud whoops escaped those running beside her and whistled through the wind. Kassandra could not help the smile touching her face as she heard laughter, deep and high, joining in with their symbolic pride.

They would not stop running until the checkpoint they pre-established before the raid to take inventory, but Kassandra believed that all of her troops survived the night. Her chest bristled with pride, knowing that she successfully avenged Cullen and the Lions without a loss tainting their victory. The Lions' whoops carried over the trees like the smoke from the village and painted the night in triumph against the first reds of the dawn.

* * *

Crossing over the final bend in the hill, Kassandra and her men approached the border of Lion Claw Hold with grins of triumph. Their journey back took less time than their initial quest to Embrium Dragon Hold as more of the days were spent marching over idly waiting around for any Dragons to chase after them.

She expected the demise of Thane Snowfallson and the fire damages would tie them from following Lion Claw Hold and hopefully admitting their defeat. She did not know what else they were willing to lose beyond their beloved leader, their village, and their collective pride.

“We have returned home!” Rylen exclaimed, and a rowdy cheer arose from their weary forces. After their successful raid, Kassandra believed that they deserved rest and a night of celebration as no casualties plagued their hearts. Stronger than thunder and swifter than lightning, they delivered justice.

As she led the pack, Kassandra stopped ahead of the trees, and her movement saw a ripple effect with those behind her stopping to listen. She moved like she had been their Thane for years, and none among the crowd would deny her leadership in battle delivered an untouched victory. She turned to face them, resting her hand on her sword and wearing her new armor and furs. “Lions, prepare to be greeted and hold your heads high like the champions we are. We proved our might, our cunning, our courage through the Avvar way—the heat of battle. Your bravery is beyond the decoration of mere words, for you have proven yourselves the most loyal of soldiers and the stoutest of kin. Today, I stand in honor to have fought by your side. Lions, we shall never bow our heads, for we are the king of all beasts! I proclaim it so!”

Her decree raised a rallying cheer among the warriors, archers, and mages who willingly followed her into battle, and she raised her sword high above her head.

They marched on, reaching the wooden behemoth gates marking the entrance to Lion Claw Hold. With the sight of Kassandra leading their kinsmen to the gates, the guards on duty reached for the war horn. The sonorous, bellowing tune drew the thundering of footsteps, and those who stayed behind appeared to greet their loved ones and kin.

Awestruck eyes darted over the crowd, not seeing a face missing from those who left their protection weeks before. Kassandra planted herself outside the gates and smiled proudly at those waiting to greet them. “I declare the raid a success. Thane Snowfallson of Embrium Dragon Hold is no more, we avenged our Hold, and we incurred no casualties!”

The crowd burst into cheers and surged forward to their respective Lion, reuniting with those. The air became electric with victory as Kassandra surveyed those around her in tight embraces, overjoyed tears, and the relief to be home. She even spotted her advisors in Delrin and Rylen enjoying their return and applauded heroism, evidenced by the crowd of eligible women surrounding a humbled Delrin and Rylen dipping a blushing Quari into a passionate kiss.

Kassandra silently laughed, turning her head forward to see Persephone approaching her solemnly. She squared her shoulders and approached, prepared for the potential worst. Persephone laced her hands together and gave a sympathetic expression, “My lady, I am overjoyed to see your safe return.”

“Thank you, Persephone. How is Thane Rutherford’s condition?” Kassandra inquired, keeping her voice low as not to disclose information to unintentionally prying ears. She refused to make Cullen’s condition widespread knowledge to respect his private nature.

Persephone’s face lightened. She nodded, “Thane Rutherford appears on the mend, my lady. I spend most of my day monitoring his condition and have slept on the floor during the night. His fever symptoms have decreased but not stopped completely. He should be sleeping in your chambers.”

“Thank you, Persephone,” Kassandra nodded and pat her on the shoulder but quietly moved past the celebrating Lions embracing their loved ones and friends. She needed to return to Cullen with the good news of their survival and conquering of their enemies. She moved through the celebrating crowd, urgently crossing the village, and climbing the ascent to their chambers. She sped up the stairs like a woman with nothing to lose and nimbly crossed the ledge, unafraid of the narrowness of the path when Cullen needed her.

She stepped across the threshold of the throne room and peeked her head into their shared chambers, seeing Cullen laid across their bed and placed under the furs. On their journey back, Kassandra received correspondence from Persephone that Cullen developed a fever but expected it to break. She spotted the pail of water seated on a stool and a worn rag hanging along the rim.

She could see the sheen of sweat across his forehead and frowned, wondering how his fever persisted so long. It worried her, but she could not lose faith that he would persevere. She felt he had overcome too much to succumb to a fever.

Keeping a quiet, stealthy approach, Kassandra brought herself to Cullen’s side, and she sat on the stool. She dipped the cloth into the pail before setting it down beside her. She leaned forward and dabbed the damp side against his forehead, hoping she could lower his fever manually. She sat beside him and measured the unknowing passage of time from the shadows on the wall. Cullen seemed unmoving and quietly sleeping, save for the occasional shiver or sinking underneath the blankets to stave off the cold.

“The fire is getting low,” Kassandra mumbled aloud, setting the cloth down atop the rim. She pushed herself off the stool and approached the fire, with the last remaining log in their pile. She would send two of the Lions to fetch them some more for the coming days. She fed the tinder to the fire and watched the flames engulf the wood into black, burnt ashes with her eyes glazing over.

The flames so close to her hand filled her body with an ache, not unlike the cathartic release that washed over her when running Snowfallson through with her sword, demanding a price in blood. The illumination of his fate entwined in suffering as he died by her hand, destroyed for his arrogance. She believed the Gods looked favorably upon Lion Claw Hold, and proving their worth in blood did not frighten her, maybe as it should. The fire jumping between wicker roofs and spreading with wicked glee and the screams of horrified Dragons filled her ears in a cacophony of violence to where she could smell the smoke rising into the night and blood spattering across her chest-

“No- Stop-!” She heard muffled cries from behind her, interrupting the daze cast over her mind, and she whirled around to see Cullen scrunching into himself and mumbling incoherently. His rocking and violent thrashing started, and Kassandra knew she needed to act swiftly.

She raced to the edge of the bed and frantically kicked off her boots before crawling over to him. Cullen had rolled onto his side in a protective curl and started to tremble, cutting him off from whatever he faced in his mind.

Kassandra slipped her arms under his and hooked them, using the leverage to roll Cullen onto his back to lay between her legs. She molded her body to his, where his head rested against the soft curve of her bosom, and she protectively pulled him in. She enveloped him in her warmth and soothe his agitation, preferring not to wake him. She suspected putting him back to rest would become a tedious task, knowing in her heart that Cullen would stubbornly refuse to take care of himself.

Understanding the urgency of her action, she recalled an old practice Selina used to lull her brother Theodore to sleep when he fussily refused or hazy memories of when she fell ill as a child to soothe her tears. She would sing to them, often in Elvish, a lullaby or two until they stilled and drifted away into slumber. While Kassandra felt her Elvish became rusty beyond repair, the fragmented pieces of an old Orlesian tavern song surfaced.

She reached out and smoothly pet down Cullen’s hair, working a repetitive motion to calm him and deliver him through the nightmare.

“Empress of fire, in the reign of the lion-” Her voice gleamed like silverite, swirling melodically off her honeyed tongue and descended upon Cullen. His body tensed, seizing in a pause, before slowly unclenching and becoming noticeably relaxed. Kassandra hummed the rest of the melody, recalling the broken pieces of what little lyrics she remembered, and cobbled them together into something new—a rescue to Cullen to keep his head above the waves of fear.

While he stopped physically fighting, his face remained in pain. Kassandra stopped herself from crumbling when she noticed the glisten of a tear roll down his cheek. He was in pain; she did not wish him to suffer. So, she hummed the song on a loop and would do so until he went completely still.

“There you are,” Kassandra whispered, delicately tracing Cullen’s face beneath her fingers and coaxing him through the shuddering breaths punctuated with fear. She did not wish to wake him, but he would suffer no nightmares as she watched over him. She would guard his vulnerable heart against ill-intentioned spirits or demons lurking in the depths of his dreams, waiting to poison them into nightmares. “Do not fear, Cullen. I shall protect you. You are safe with me.”


	14. Cleansed by Fire

The Lions' return from their raid signaled a shift in the dynamic between Cullen and Kassandra, with the former caving on his pride and allowing himself to be nursed back to health. With guidance from Persephone, Kassandra managed to break his fever.

With Cullen on the mend, she continued to manage the hold's daily operations, and the Lions found their lives prospering underneath her direction. If there remained anyone who questioned Kassandra’s place among them, those doubts would finally lay to rest. She and Thane Rutherford approached rulership with the same justness that endeared their forces to them, more alike than anyone would have suspected when Kassandra first arrived at the hold.

Several weeks passed, and Cullen requested to finally take his first venture out of his bed since the stabbing incident, believing to be ready. So, with Kassandra attentively at his side, he pulled himself from the bed and settled himself into her steady arm. They proceeded to exit their chambers and move through the throne room with an agonizingly slow pace to Cullen, who let out a frustrated growl.

Kassandra looked at him, sternly, “Cullen, you know we are going slow for a reason. The last thing we need is you becoming overwhelmed.”

The chiding seemed to work with Cullen’s scowl faltering and him, sighing with resignation, conceding that she was right. He was simply tired of feeling cooped up and useless, which Kassandra understood immensely. She would feel similar about being shuttered away for weeks on end but recovering from a stab wound prioritized agitation out of boredom.

She gently assisted him down the stairs, and Cullen realized that Kassandra was right when he occasionally stopped them to regain his stability. Sometimes his vision would spot, and his head would spin when he moved too fast after bed rest. Kassandra never snapped or fussed but let him take his time.

When at the bottom, Kassandra guided Cullen on a walk through the village. Cullen, much to his surprise, found himself jovially greeted by his people. Their smiles and exclaimed well wishes told him that his returned presence, mostly recovered and appearing healthy, greatly pleased them.

More Lions came rushing out when hearing the greetings of Thane Rutherford shouted by their kin, leading to the village to fill with admiring faces. Cullen managed a weary smile, not one for smiling, and accepted the greeting with a warm wave. Rylen and Delrin approached him and Kassandra.

“We can take over, my lady,” Delrin told Kassandra, and she raised an eyebrow but understood the pretense that they wished to speak with their Thane privately. She nodded and transferred her grip to Rylen and Delrin, no sooner than she found herself whisked away by the children of the hold. The adults chuckled when watching their temporary Thane interacting with the younglings. 

“You look less like shite. How are you holding up?” Rylen questioned of Cullen, clapping him lightly on the shoulder and the two escorting him somewhere private where they could fill him in. They suspected that Kassandra kept him in the dark until he recovered, and that decision seemed a wise one. Cullen Rutherford was a stubborn man who would work himself half to death, regardless of his condition.

“I am tired of being coddled, determined to do something productive, and itching to return to the arena.” Cullen listed with a frown, eliciting a bark of laughter from Rylen. The three ambled to seat Cullen in a rickety chair seated outside one of the huts, letting his aching muscles relax.

“Well, my Thane, you are in the best hands. Let yourself heal without re-injury or gaining another ailment. Otherwise, you shall delay your full and expectant return to your duties, and that cannot inspire confidence among the ranks.” Delrin advised him with a kind smile, wanting to look out for his old friend. Cullen groaned, waving him off. Like he had not heard that advice before- It was reminded to him all through the few weeks Kassandra and the Lions were away, and Kassandra wasted no time watching him like a hawk when she returned.

“Oh, I know. Kassandra seems rather fond of reminding me-” Cullen mused. Speaking of Kassandra, he glanced back to where she stood with the children. She spoke to them in soft tones, smiling at them or making them smile in glee. She even accepted a wooden sword from one of the younglings and pretended to duel him—letting him “best” her. The observing little ones broke into giggles at her theatrics, which brought Cullen’s attention to how the younglings attached to her presence.

“She is a smart woman, my Thane. Brilliant beyond description, dedicated to our people too-” Rylen mentioned, finding himself not short of praise. Of all Kassandra’s enviable qualities, he found her intelligence of the highest regard as her wit and strategic thinking crafted a shield around her warriorship that left few foes capable of getting between her armor. 

“I do not believe her care and compassion can be understated either, my Thane. She brings a bold heart and faithful spirit to us, all essential qualities in a show of unity.” Delrin added, drawing nods from Rylen and pointed confusion from Cullen. 

Rylen rubbed at his chin, musing, “Truthfully, I do not know of any other woman who would have made a better Chosen. I would wager that our people believe that you chose the right bride.” 

“Why are you telling me this like I do not know. I chose her, for the Gods sent her to me-” Cullen arched his brow, his eyes wandering back toward Kassandra. He witnessed the sight of her kneeling down before a youngling who held a flower crown in her hands, and he bit back a chuckle. The little girl, if he remembered correctly, trained with Persephone to become her apprentice when older. Kassandra tilted her head forward and accepted the beautiful crown, woven together with pink and purple wildflowers. The youngling giggled and skipped away, which was when Cullen returned his focus to Rylen and Delrin. He ignored Rylen’s pointed smirk or Delrin’s raised brows, displaying much amusement when they noticed their Thane’s attention no longer belonged to them. “-And I am thankful for their blessing more than I admit.”

“Outstanding, my Thane.” Delrin nodded, but Cullen could sense his men were hiding something from him. Namely, he suspected something happened while on the raid that no one would tell him about, and he wanted answers.

Kassandra, politely excusing herself from the company of the younglings, jogged over to Cullen when she noticed his eyes on her. She assumed that signaled his wish to continue their walk or return to the chambers if fatigued. Rylen and Delrin respectfully bowed when regaining the presence of the Lady of the Hold, and Kassandra gave the three intrigued glances, “Thane Rutherford, did you require me?”

“Yes,” Cullen nodded and started to push himself out of the chair. “I decided that I wish to return to our chambers, feeling worn down from the trek but overall good spirits from the greetings of his people. Kassandra nodded, having suspected that his reaction would be that way after weeks of bed rest and recovery.

“Of course, my Thane. Let us go,” Kassandra agreed, and she whisked him away, gently as not to overwhelm him. She expected he felt exhausted and would take the ascent up the mountain slowly. The two spent longer on their ascent up the mountain, focused on prioritizing Cullen’s safety and conserving his energy as much as they could.

Eventually, they arrived back in their chambers, and Kassandra escorted him to the edge of the bed. She helped him discard his boots and the heavy furs he wore, making him feel lighter but colder. She ushered him into bed and draped the covers over him.

“I assume you wish to talk about the raid?” Kassandra inquired, gliding across the room to add logs to the fire to keep the room warm. She tugged at her neckline, wondering if she should change into something lighter. She pushed her hair back from her face and sighed, rolling her shoulders and neck to a symphony of cracks and pops.

“Yes, but not now,” Cullen remarked, adjusting himself to sit up with a slight grimace. The fur blankets slipped down his torso, and he pulled the blanket back up. “I wanted to ask about how you have adjusted thus far. I know that being an outsider can make transitioning to a new life difficult. I should know, after all.”

Kassandra felt her breath catch, and she turned back to him, eyes wide. She assumed that she misheard him or something, so she asked a soft “What?”

“I was not always an Avvar. When I was much younger, circumstances saw me adopted into the clan by our former Thane, and I spent the latter end of my formative years as an Avvar. When our Thane passed on, his title was in limbo as he had no blood children. Some elders wanted it while others suggested I was good enough of a replacement as his ‘son.’ Ultimately, I won the Thaneship through the sword-” Cullen briefly explained, knowing his revelation came as a shock from how Kassandra’s face ran through several expressions. She rushed to his side, seating herself on the edge of the bed.

“Wait, why did I not know this?”

Cullen shifted uncomfortably under her inquisitive eyes, knowing she demanded an answer wordlessly. He planned to tell her the full truth, but the moment did not fit the present, “Another time? I wish to hear about the raid.”

“How it went? Why successfully, of course!” Kassandra replied, unable to mask her pride. Why should she? It held up as a tactical success, pulled off as one of the best missions, according to Rylen. There was a level of pride to be had.

“Did you find purpose in it? Revenge?” Cullen questioned, running his tongue across the word revenge with a strange sort of scorn. He, himself, was not above vengeance—perhaps the exhaustion of his body or his agitated mind cast a shadow over the victory his Lions won.

Kassandra snapped her head toward him, “This was not revenge, Cullen. I marched our forces to avenge you, to right a wrong in the name of justice.” She corrected, and Cullen noticed her stern eyes flashing with slight indignation. Revenge would imply petty or personal gain, none of which would be true. She walked into danger for him and nothing else.

“Apologies, you are correct,” Cullen nodded, smoothing the tension with a swift acknowledgment, and Kassandra soothed her ruffled feathers with an elegant, impersonal hum. Cullen observed as she slipped off her boots and cleaned up the floor before sitting beside him on the bed. “I assume Snowfallson has met justice then?”

“He has met the Lady of the Skies. He was vanquished by my sword. He would stand as the only casualty in the raid. We did not kill innocents, such as the children, with our plan. We incapacitated the guards, set fire to their supply stockpile, and caused massive chaos. That was how I managed to get Snowfallson alone, and he let his anger guide him straight onto my sword. He became his greatest enemy, not I. He made the spectacle that preceded his death, where all his loyal followers could see how he descended into madness to where it killed him. I only did as I promised when I cut his tongue out. A pity how his undoing came because I was better at the blade than his wife.” Kassandra stated.

“I see,” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and glancing at Kassandra. “I- I am more pleased that you returned safely- and our men too. I did find myself praying for your protection- you could have- But you sit with me, triumphant and unharmed. For that, I am thankful.”

“I am too,” Kassandra managed a soft smile and closed her eyes, enjoying the peace of their chambers. Seated together, Cullen and Kassandra remained content to indulge the quiet of the room stoked by the crackling fireplace, all while trying not to notice the closeness of their nearly brushing hands. The winter months were gradually rolling to their end, which heralded the promise of spring and the opportunities for a new life. A season of change was upon Lion Claw Hold, and something magical began to brew between the Thane and his not-so reluctant Chosen.


	15. The Awakening of Spring

The Embrium Dragon Hold raid forever changed the dynamics between tribes as the legend of the Lioness spread to all those willing to hear the tale. Kassandra chose the midnight raid to make a statement, and a statement it made. Not a rallying cry of resentment or so much as a peep emerged from the Embrium Dragons, and their empire crumbled with their beloved leader slain where he stood. The last reports gathered by Lion Claw Hold scouts determined internal unrest as various members threatened challenges against Damiana for control of the hold, and the Dragons were busy fighting amongst each other.

Let them fight. It meant less time to focus on harassing Lion Claw Hold or other tribes within the region.

Cullen made an expedient, full recovery under Kassandra’s consistent and watchful care. He resumed command of the hold within no time, taking the reins back from his Chosen to find prosperity abundant among his people. As he determined the Lions safe from want or need, his focus expanded to what lay outside their walls.

Danger lurked beyond what they might see, and Cullen decided that he could no longer turn a blind eye to the relations between him and neighboring tribes. Under his watch, those connections crumbled into disrepair, and he needed them to be flourishing. The strong presence of allies should deter further inter-clan conflicts, as seen with Embrium Dragon Hold.

So, Cullen enlisted the brilliance of his Chosen to accompany him on these meetings with other Thanes within the region to broker peace or more. Cullen's move became apparent as one of unquestionable success as her newfound reputation as a great warrior and tactician lent her credence. She spoke with unstoppable intelligence, enviable eloquence, and all properly masked on a silver tongue.

He began to see another side of Kassandra, one that likely moved through the opulent halls of palaces or noble manors in grace while hiding daggers behind a smile. She spoke fluently in the language of diplomacy, master in the art of deception.

If she was a danger with a sword in hand, then perhaps her greater weapon came cloaked within her words and pretty smiles.

As it played out, Kassandra’s presence and her political nature worked unilaterally in their favor. Lion Claw Hold negotiated and revived several peace treaties between individual tribes to forge strong alliances, rife with protections. Beyond the tribal needs, Kassandra managed to persuade the other Thanes to form a multi-tribal pact committed to peaceful relations and the flourishing of trade. They were deserving of a peaceful co-existence.

The negotiations whittled away at the winter months, and the weather started warming in the region, encouraging the shedding of fur layers to lighter materials like linens. With the weather change, all knew that spring would soon be upon them. A change of seasons meant a new festival, and Kassandra learned that the Lady of the Skies would become the important focus of the festival.

A week or so before the ceremonial festivities, Kassandra entered the infirmary with Cybele beside her. She had been on her morning routine of walking through the village when Cybele rushed to her side, taking her hands and dragging her along without much warning. A dazed Kassandra put up no protest as they entered the infirmary, seeing Quari waiting for them.

“Good morning, my lady!” Quari greeted, earning one confused Kassandra on the verge of questioning what exactly was going on. The palpability of her perplexed feelings did not get lost on Quari and Cybele, who knowingly snatched her without explanation.

Cybele cleared her throat, “My lady, we have an important announcement for you. Thane Rutherford asked us to speak with you as soon as we had the chance.”

“I see. What do you need to tell me?” Kassandra tugged at the sleeves of her dress before lacing her hands together against her abdomen. She did not mind offering services or assisting Cybele and Quari should they require her. They need not be so secretive about asking for help-

“As I am sure you know, spring is coming. You recall our winter tradition, yes?” Cybele inquired, to which Kassandra nodded affirmatively. She did remember the winter festivities and how they were a welcome departure from the Santalia balls she attended while in Ostwick. Those started becoming a bore once she reached her adolescence. “Good- We conduct a feast for the come of spring, dedicated to the Lady of the Skies. As we celebrate her radiance and blessings to survive another winter, we have a specific tradition among us Lions. The woman with the highest status in the hold dons a special attire and conducts the blessing over us to appease the Lady of the Skies. She would wear ceremonial garb, including feathers, furs, and dark metals as symbols of the Lady of the Skies. I used to perform the ceremony, but this cycle shall see you upholding the responsibility-”

“Cybele, you should grab the garments so we may teach Lady Kassandra the essentials.” Quari politely reminded. Cybele departed from the room with swiftness in her gait, which left Kassandra to ruminate over her thoughts. _They wanted her-?_ Well, she would take the position as the senior-most woman of the hold, she supposed. Distracted by her thoughts, Kassandra missed Quari scanning her eyes critically across the bookshelf tucked into the corner of the room and plucking something from the middle of the row.

“Here,” Quari flounced back over to Kassandra before dropping a musty tome into her open arms. Kassandra gasped when catching it as the weight of the faded, worn leather and yellowing pages into her unexpecting grasp caught her by surprise. She glanced between the blank cover and Quari’s smiling face.

“Uh, what is this?” Kassandra inquired politely, staggering over to the cleared off the table in the infirmary and setting the tome down with a dull thud. She hesitantly opened the cover, eyes taking in the script written in common tongue with unfamiliar phrases peppered in between and names she vaguely recognized in the distant haze of the past.

“I found a book of hymns. We wrote them down to protect them, and it is the sacred duty of the spiritual leaders of each tribe to memorize the lyrics for the sake of oral history. These hymns detail legends of Avvar heritage and history, some telling the tales we know to be true and others that we may never know.” Quari explained, and she joined Kassandra at the table. She pointed and dragged a slender finger to turn the page, highlighting more text, “During the spring feast, the highest-ranking woman of the hold would perform a hymn. Since you are taking over the ceremonial duties from Cybele, it includes a memorized hymn. You may select one from this book to get you started.”

“I understand,” Kassandra quietly glanced between the nearest cot and the heavy tome, knowing she should get reading and memorizing one of the hymns. She did not expect the Lions to let her drag the hymns up there with her. She was one of them now; she should be able to memorize a hymn in due time between her other tasks. She used to sing songs in the hallowed walls and under the stained-glass murals of Ostwick’s chantry with the trained choir, devoted to her religiosity like her life depended on it. Funnily enough, it did at the time.

“I should go see if Cybele requires assistance. I shall return soon, my lady!” Quari cheerfully exclaimed before swiftly departing from the room in a flurry of her skirt and long, dark hair streaming loosely behind her. Kassandra mutely glanced at the musty tome and scooped it up, biting back a grunt as she wrangled with the heaviness of the book. She shuffled to the cot and collapsed down on it, barely keeping the book from crushing her chest underneath.

“One would assume this book is made of dawnstone or another metal, not paper and Antivan leather-” Kassandra coughed out when rocking into an upright position. She settled the tome into her lap and decided to flip open to a random page. From there, she scoured the pages until she found something nearly in common tongue with a few phrases she could ask one of her advisors for help pronouncing, wanting to get it right.

She idly scanned the page, and her eyes caught the image of a statuesque woman, dressed in ceremonial armor and sporting sprawling horns like a halla’s, holding hands with a man dressed in threadbare clothing and skinned furs. She squinted when examining the picture in closer inspection, wondering how the artist captured the smallest details in the curve of the man’s smile or the proud sparkle in the woman’s eyes that warmly glowed like crackling embers escaping the fire.

The piece, entitled _The Ballad of Stefan Valos and Sayera Dragonhorn_ , sat etched into the page with a richly dark ink that Kassandra could not help but trace her finger over. An undeniable truth of her heart was that she loved a good story, privy to finding herself lost in a tale told around a roaring fire or the whispered exchanges in the secret of a harrowing encounter behind fans and the allure of masks. She knew a storyteller once, a friend of hers she would never see again.

The story began with the man, Stefan, a lowlander of humbled origination that traveled through the wood outside of the hold. As the story alleged, he was on a hunt with multiple other competitors to capture the most impressive creature to win the hand in marriage of a noblewoman in Redcliffe—his home. By happenstance, Stefan would become separated from the others of the hunting party and stray too far from the path when chasing what appeared to be a fennec.

For his troubles, he stumbled into an ambush. At the head of his captors was a woman, Sayera Dragonhorn, who appeared to be the Thane of Lion Claw Hold. Sayera was a proud, strong woman who guarded her tribe fiercely and took threats seriously. Stefan expected his life to end that day, but Sayera took mercy on him. She brought him back to the hold, remarking she would decide his fate the next dawn. She expected Stefan to attempt to escape and let her hunt him down, almost finding excitement in the promise of a chase.

However, when the dawn came, Sayera discovered Stefan quietly waiting in his cell. He made no attempt to escape his cell or even a struggle. He serenely awaited the judgment given to him by Sayera. When she demanded to know why he did not escape, he admitted that he believed faith would see him through any trial and that he accepted whatever punishment Sayera saw befitting for his intrusion on Lion Claw lands.

Sayera, impressed with his bravery, extended the second act of mercy on him. She promised to let him go free and return to his home. Stefan, a lowly bard, revealed that he had nothing to return home to, and perhaps a sign brought him there to learn the stories of the earth. He would stay.

Time passed with Sayera and Stefan growing to be inseparable, an observation that did not escape the notice of the hold. Whether romance unfolded between the Thane and her lowlander companion seemed unverifiable, but history would never know. During one of their hunts, Sayera and Stefan were ambushed by unknown assailants and engaged in a fearsome battle.

As tragedy would have it, Sayera would not live to see Stefan victorious in fending off their attackers as she took the fatal blow meant for him instead. She passed on before he could cradle her in his arms, overcome with grief when carrying her back to the hold. As Sayera’s tribe prepped her for sky burial, Stefan could not bear to see his closest companion gone and departed into the wilderness, never to be seen again.

Having finished the tale, Kassandra lingered on the page. She felt oddly paralyzed with the mortifying ordeal of feeling known, seen through a story written about someone else entirely yet drawing a connection. She could not help but think about herself- and Cullen, who she had started to form a deeper bond to. Where did the parallels lead? Captivity to tentative friendship or something unknowingly more brought together through coincidence and bonded through survival. It felt all so much-

The approach of harmonized footsteps caused Kassandra to frantically flip several pages down, sporting a hot blush across her face at the thought of getting caught. She should have focused better on finding an appropriate hymn and not losing herself in a story. She glanced over her shoulder to see Cybele and Quari entering.

In Quari’s arms, a pile of dark furs draped across in what Kassandra guessed to be a cloak or some outerwear garment. Meanwhile, Cybele carried two darkly gleaming objects made of metals in her hands and immediately addressed Kassandra, “Ah, there you are, my lady! Have you chosen a hymn to perform for the ceremony?”

“Uh, yes-” Kassandra lied, eyes snapping back to the page. She briefly glanced over the hymn she landed on in her haste and skimmed the page. She noticed the tale of the moon, sun, and the stars between them as a playful ballad she swore she remembered from somewhere. Perhaps a tavern song during her trips outside of her family estate, back when her heart was whole and her family was still alive. “I like this… _Keeper of the Sun, Moon, and the Stars_. It sounds lovely.”

“Excellent!” Cybele exclaimed, and Kassandra closed the book, setting it to the side of the bed. She rose and glanced between her advisors, appearing keen to pass on the ceremonial honor to Kassandra. Selection for this ceremony remained one of the highest honors and meant for the woman who the hold idolized, the direct liaison between omens from the Lady of the Skies and the hold.

She cleared her throat passively, “Now, the ceremonial garb-”

* * *

When the night of the festival arrived, Kassandra stared at her reflection in the small basin of water when it caught the light from the headpiece she wore, done like a crown of light in black, gleaming spikes. She would represent the Lady of the Skies as this festival stood to honor her in the arrival of new life and the departure of the cold, dead winter. She reigned over burial and the passage of souls on from the mortal plane, returning them to the world around them. Therefore, the Avvar honored her wisdom and the joy of new life coming into fruition.

Without her guidance, they would have nothing.

Kassandra’s attention jolted away from her reflection, cheeks scolded red over a sense of spellbound vanity when taking in her visage from stilled waters. She defied what expectations quietly lined up within her to walk along the thin line of shadowy beauty. Dark powder smudged around her eyes, a hood of assorted, darkened furs, a collar necklace made with intricate swirling metalwork in a dark obsidian color, and a plain linen dress flowing around her ankles loosely. She did not wear anything ostentatious outside the crown, furs, and collar for ceremony required a simple white gown.

“My lady Kassandra? Are you ready?” Cybele’s airy, sing-song tone floated into the room, seeing Kassandra stand upright with rigid posture. She quickly relaxed and spun around, facing the trio of Cybele, Persephone, and Quari. Persephone held a small, indistinguishable bundle in her hand as she and the others let out stunned, appreciative gasps for Kassandra wearing the traditional garments. The tradition held within their fabrics, woven together by shared histories, adored her beautiful to reaffirm the longstanding truth that Kassandra was one of them.

She shed blood for them, swore an oath to them, and partook in ceremonies dear to their hearts as a member of Lion Claw Hold. No one would deny her the place she earned within the clan of closeness.

“I believe I am,” Kassandra glanced down at her attire, hands awkwardly hanging at her side. She halfway reached out to brush her hair that fell over the front of her shoulders but held herself back. Nitpicking over her appearance would not stall the inevitable for long enough to steal some courage. She knew this. So, she looked at Persephone, Cybele, and Quari, whose stares were settled on her, “I am wearing the garb correctly, right?”

“Yes!” Persephone assured her, clasping her hands together. From what Kassandra gathered, she noticed undeniable pride laced in their expressions, which elicited a small smile. The more she learned about Avvar life and history, the more she wanted to be there for the big moments of sharing those histories. She was not the same woman who arrived on their borders, dirtied in a torn wedding gown.

The trio escorted Kassandra from her personal chambers through the hold, emptied with everyone at the celebration sight. They chose outside the hold’s walls in the gorgeous meadow within their territorial bounds to host the celebration, just beyond the trees.

As the four women drew closer to the sound of children’s laughter swirling above the trees, Kassandra noticed Cullen standing out of sight and admiring his sword. He heard their approach and dared to glance up, eyes locked onto Kassandra immediately. Quari gave her a slight nudge forward, telling her to go to the Thane while the others joined their friends and kin in celebration. The Thane and his Chosen must arrive together, often the final additions to a room.

Kassandra stopped right before Cullen, offering him her hand. She knew the routine, but Cullen made no effort to move. He grabbed for both of her hands and urged her eyes up to his, detecting a hint of admiration there. “It suits you.” He said.

“Thank you, Cullen,” Kassandra bowed her head, feeling overwhelmed by the response to her increased presence in the ceremony. She wanted to do it right and could not deny the small jolt of her heart when Cullen gave her another look that made her chest tightly constrict. His vulnerability was appreciated, something she fought for him to freely show her through demonstrations of her trustworthiness. She sighed, “I am deeply honored for the chance to do this. I want to do it right, to do it perfectly. Nothing less than what is deserved by the Lady of the Skies.”

“You will do the ceremony honor,” Cullen nodded sagely before stepping into the sight of the Lions, and Kassandra stayed on his arm. Everyone seated rose onto their feet for a proper greeting of the Thane and his Chosen, taking the sight of her in. Cullen proudly assumed a position at the head of the room and raised his hand high.

“As tradition dictates, this moon, we honor the Lady of the Skies. Before the evening shall proceed in celebration or merriment, Lady Kassandra shall perform the traditional hymn and prayer to our Lady in appeasement!” Cullen declared, gesturing to Kassandra to step onto the natural rock formation raised higher than the crowd she presided over. Kassandra nodded, swiftly hiking her skirts and confidently scaling the closest ledge to reach the formation. Cullen observed her with an inkling of pride written on his face, whereas their people admired her with wide, awestruck eyes.

Kassandra reached to the top of the rocks, walking up to the edge and smiling down at everyone. She raised her arms to the heavens above, repeating what Cybele taught her, “O’ Lady of the Skies, wise beyond reproach and sensible in all her judgments, I call your glory upon this hold. You have seen us favorable to fight on another day- taking some of us back to our existence with you and to be reborn through the world we borrow in your graciousness. In blessings and good tithings, I offer this hymn-” Kassandra declared, and as she stood, hoisted above her Lions and belting a hymn from deep within her, all was calm, and peace reigned with the knowledge that spring was there.


	16. The Stars and The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC SEXUAL ACTIVITY BETWEEN TWO CONSENTING ADULT PARTIES. IF SMUT MIGHT TRIGGER YOU (INCLUDING DOMINANT CULLEN), PLEASE SKIP TO THE NEXT CHAPTER)

The spring evenings in the Basin were surprisingly warm to Kassandra, given their proximity to the frigid mountains. Having spent the day working through the hold and covered in sand from her hours spent teaching the younglings in the arena, she felt due for a change of clothes. After hours of wrangling excitable children to pass on the art of the blade, it seemed the least she deserved. She already bathed but changed into simple garments meant for training purposes when she needed to be readying herself for sleep.

Upon returning to her chambers, she immediately began the process of changing. She grabbed the hem of her shirt, pulling it up her body to reveal the toned silhouette from years of sword-fighting yet displaying the dips of soft curves that her feminine wiles leaned on. She politely dropped the bundled shirt on the bed beside her.

Next, she hooked a finger into her chest bindings and swiftly worked to undo them. With every additional crook of her fingers, she felt the bindings loosen, and her compressed bosom freed itself from the other layers. Kassandra stifled a huff when she felt her nipples harden in the warm air of the night and a light rush of shivering racing up her spine, paying too much attention to non-essential things.

She went to manage the tufts of dark, wavy hair falling out of her mangled braid updo and into her face. Nimble fingers, calloused from years of handling a sword, combed through the braid steadily falling apart and worked on styling it into something more flattering. In the end, she opted to leave it loose and free to the world.

Shaking out her head, Kassandra leaned forward to the trunk at the foot of the bed. She popped the lid open and pulled out the blue nightgown of hers, the same tainted with the memory of Snowfallson’s failed kidnapping plot. However, she refused to rid herself of something she cherished so deeply over the wasted efforts of one insufferable fool; she reclaimed the power of her destiny into something as simple yet meaningful as an old nightgown.

As she fondly stroked the soft, almost silky material of the nightgown, Kassandra failed to sense the familiar footsteps of Cullen entering the room. He spotted her hair down and assumed that she still wore her chest bindings in his obstructed, incorrect vision. He stopped on the other side of the room, and, by happenstance, Kassandra picked the most inopportune moment to turn around.

She nearly yelped when seeing Cullen standing there as his eyes widened when seeing the unprotected sight of her bosom. His eyes trailed down the valley between two full, perkily shaped breasts in a creamy, pale shade slightly lighter than her arms and face. He then found his focus diverted to the pair of dark pink, hardened nipples, which caused him to be short of breath and his mouth to dry. Kassandra quickly wrapped her arms and the layer of the nightgown across her chest to cover her exposed bosom.

“Cullen!” She exclaimed, thoroughly mortified with the accidental reveal of herself in such an indecent state unwittingly. She closed her eyes, wishing the ground beneath her could swallow her whole or that the tight clenching of her stomach to where it hurt might stop. She knew embarrassment intimately enough to discern it was not that. She wheezed out, “I missed you coming in-”

Cullen, however, seemed rooted in the spot, and his eyes glazed over, not straying from the blue silken shield of Kassandra’s nightgown haphazardly strewn across her chest. When he regained coherence, Cullen promptly spun himself around and faced the wall so Kassandra might change. “Apologies, Kassandra- I should have announced my presence before entering. I assume full responsibility-”

“I promise we share culpability,” Kassandra promised him, quickly shimmying out of the loose-fitting trousers she wore back from her quick bath and kicked off her boots. Overhearing the small, discontented fidgeting from Cullen, who faced the wall without even a peek over his shoulder, encouraged her to change faster.

Knowing that Cullen respectfully averted his gaze so she might change, she rid herself of remaining clothing beyond her smallclothes and slipped the soft chemise overhead. Comfort enveloped her enough to balance out against the discomfort of exposing herself. She was not a noblewoman anymore, but she retained the training of a proper, modest lady befitting of her upbringing in the Chantry and the values instilled in her by her parents.

She saw how Cullen’s eyes stared, unable to be drawn away. She knew that her body existed as the greatest tool at her disposal, but its power remained sheltered behind a chosen vow to modest dressing and chastity with her affections—until now. Something transformed within her since arriving at Lion Claw Hold. She could only describe it as the late blossoming of her will to explore what she always fended away with half-hearted promises of the importance in chastity. 

When Kassandra softly cleared her throat to inform that she felt decent, Cullen respectfully turned around to face her. Then, Kassandra noticed a familiar book in his hands, realizing that Cullen discovered her little secret. Her face heated when Cullen pushed open the book, plucked the small bookmark from an elfroot stalk she made after a foraging trip with Persephone and glanced knowingly down at the page.

“I found this stashed under your pillow,” Cullen remarked, occasionally glancing up from the page to take in Kassandra’s expression. He found her commitment to keeping her guard up through all circumstances admirable, but she had nothing to be ashamed of that he stumbled upon what she hid from him. He took great pride in knowing that she enjoyed their people's stories and the histories of the hold that preceded them. He kept his thumb tucked into the page to not lose it, considering it too important for his needs. He chuckled, “When uncovering it from the stellar hiding place you chose, I noticed the saved page by happenstance. You have read the Ballad of Sayera and Stefan, I assume?”

“Yes, I have,” Kassandra confirmed.

“And? What did you think of it?” Cullen inquired, curiously studying her under those deep amber eyes, and Kassandra walked the line between questioning his motives and blindly answering. Her instincts were rarely wrong, and she could tell this question meant more to Cullen than he let on.

“I thought it was bittersweet. We cannot control when we come into this world, the same as when we leave it. It seemed that something greater brought Sayera and Stefan together, through circumstances they likely did not imagine themselves in. Although the disputed records question whether their connection ever devolved into romance, I would assume that the mere presence of companionship triumphed over any question into the nuances. It was a beautiful story, tragic yet beautiful.” Cullen nodded, understanding her point of view. He could not recall the last time he read through his hymns, although he memorized them to heart. He guessed that it easily was years. He gently closed the book and set it down on the crudely carved chest pushed against the wall next to him.

“I would agree,” Cullen crossed his arms, cozying up against the stone wall. He sighed, seeming like something weighed on him. Kassandra watched, in mild concern, and expected him to explain what bothered him so. This felt more than a discussion about a simple ballad. Her thoughts coincided with Cullen’s sudden musings, “One might argue that you were drawn to the story, hmm? That fate led you to it, just like it brought you here to the hold.”

That statement was loaded. Kassandra could not overlook it or pretend it did not make her breath catch in her throat, not unlike the frightened halla spotting danger in the distance. While the air hung over her and Cullen with the unspoken realization that her next moves would drastically change the outcome of whatever this was, she knew that she was afraid of nothing. Yet, everything revolving around how her heart raced to the beat of the crackling fire. “Perhaps that is true. However, I know you did not come solely to inquire thoughts about literature, did you?”

Cullen quietly shook his head, eyes refusing to meet hers as they rolled toward the floor, “No, I did not.”

“Then, why did you bring it up?” Kassandra inquired, softly rising from her spot at the edge of the bed. A small creak springing out of the bed when she shifted off, encouraging Cullen’s head to snap upward. His attention was hers as she slowly walked toward the middle of the room, symbolically meeting him halfway. Perhaps it was the air that evening, but she believed Cullen knew exactly why he came. She did. The undeniable truth no longer existed within the space of their denials, and passive ignorance was choosing to overlook the stirring of deeper feelings. The silence felt heavy with implication, dogged by gamely stares that felt like a playful chase between the two and half-finished sentences that dropped off with unpredictable fondness.

Cullen, mesmerized by her slow approach, found himself pushing off the wall he leaned against and inch closer to her. He took calculated steps, each measured with the reassurance that he could stop himself at a given moment. But he did not know if stopping lay in the stars for them.

He felt something blisteringly hot pulsing within him that threatened to unravel his self-control into pitiful shreds. The name of it danced on his tongue a sinful waltz that demanded he cave in to what he long coveted, embrace the allure of his attraction to the divine woman he called his Chosen. Desire, the most unrepentant of vices.

He could only swallow thickly when seeing Kassandra staring up at him, blue eyes wide and wanton. She, much to his surprise, adorned herself in the desire he thought she would find shameful or unbecoming of her. They once considered each other on opposite sides of the divide they erected, despised and distrusting of the other’s intentions. The wall that once stood between them eroded under the test of time and the inevitable closeness not fully explained in the omen. Thus, was the nature of the messages from the Gods—never so easily interpreted.

Cullen felt his words trickle back when Kassandra quietly pressed warm palms into his chest. His hand reached forward to capture her face and tilted her chin to meet his eyes with a hand against her cheek. He whispered, “I, curious as to where you stood, wondered if you saw a parallel in the story. Selfishly, I wanted to know whether I am venturing down a fruitless voyage to inquire as to whether or not you could love a man like me.”

“Cullen, no- you- I do!” Kassandra gasped in assurance, not realizing what she said until after the words escaped her. Despite the abruptness of her statement, she knew that she did not lie either. What she said encompassed the unspoken reality that she had fallen in love with Cullen and that she knew, deep down, that he fell in love with her.

“Say it again.” Cullen requested quietly, and his eyes never left hers. His gaze grew almost as hot as the flickering flames dancing in the hearth, falling into the same hue. Kassandra swallowed thickly to make the words come out. She had no reason to fear him. He was Cullen. She knew him.

“I love you, Cullen Rutherford—Thane of Lion Claw Hold. You have stolen a heart I thought forever broken from years of loss and fixed it beyond my wildest expectations. You liberated me from my past in the strangest of ways. You humbled me, my pride, and my ignorance of how the world could still hold wonderful things for me, even after a loss. You claim that I was sent to you, but I suspect that you were sent to me-” Kassandra’s impassioned, heartfelt declaration skittered to an abrupt close when Cullen swooped down. Their lips collided into a surprisingly gentle kiss.

The passion raced as a delightful undercurrent, and the care Cullen took with her pleasantly surprised Kassandra, considering the friction between them swirling around in the spring evening. A bashful blush dusted the apples of her cheeks in pink when Kassandra started losing herself into the kiss. She had been kissed once before—ages ago—but it felt nothing like this. Back then, she was a sheltered girl who believed in fairytale princes, dealt with a limited experience speaking to boys her own age, and painfully unsure where her heart lay.

Now, there seemed no conflict, for she grew into a resilient, confident woman of indomitable spirit, and she knew exactly what she wanted. No longer did she wish on stars or pray to the Maker for a handsome prince to sweep her off her feet and shower her in riches. Instead, she wanted Cullen—a confident, honorable man who respected her capabilities, elevated her to his equal, and gave her purpose in leading their Lions together.

Although starting off sweet and of the most feather-light touch, the kiss grew into something more befitting of the desires Cullen and Kassandra buried down for months. A hand on the waist dipping slightly lower and the sudden, delightfully unexpected tugging of her lower lip by Cullen’s teeth elicited a needy moan from Kassandra. The wanting sound bounced off the rounded walls of their chambers, immediately striking Cullen into stopping.

He pulled his face back, breathing as hard as Kassandra did. His eyes gleamed, feeling a pang of arousal harden his cock between his legs. Kassandra was a divinely beautiful woman; he knew that indisputably. The thought crossed his mind long before he realized genuine love for her beyond the pretense of a marriage written in convenience.

“May I?” Cullen inquired, brow furrowed and face stern. Kassandra comprehended the question when his hand dipped underneath the hem of her nightgown and grabbed a fist of the material in his sturdy hands. Kassandra felt a shiver trickle through her body at the suggestion. He wanted to- Oh? Her already pinkened cheeks deepened into a delectable shade of red that would possibly make Cullen laugh if he were not so serious.

“Yes. Gods, yes!” Kassandra nodded enthusiastically, and her permission saw Cullen speedily pull the nightgown away from her skin and over her head. Her dark waves splayed down her toned shoulders and cascaded to her mid-back. Cullen’s eyes hungrily lapped over her newly exposed skin, including the perky bosom he caught an accidental eyeful of earlier.

Like a man with nothing to lose, Cullen slightly bent Kassandra over the arm, holding her around the waist, and trailed his lips down from hers. He laid waste to her skin and tainted the creamy shade in blossoms of red that the morning would see darker. Kassandra moaned without shame as the touches reached her chest, and a hot tongue brushed against her sensitive nipples, hardening them until she physically ached from the sensation.

She was untouched, unfamiliar to the intoxicating grip pleasure exerted over a person. She knew her commodity laid in the decision to save herself for the man she married, but another front of liberation dawned on her when seeing she could give herself to the man she loved.

Kassandra weakly tugged him up and whined when pulling at his clothing, “You are still so dressed, my Thane. I would like to see these layers shed from you.”

“As my lady commands me,” Cullen replied, and he started removing his furs to reveal the blue paint swirling across his abdomen, back, arms, and potentially lower. With each layer removed by Cullen or Kassandra’s eager assistance jumping to and fro along his taut, sinewy muscles. She felt so exposed in her smallclothes only, gradually adjusting. Her heart drummed away loudly in her ears as the last layer came undone. Her eyes widened as Cullen’s hardened cock sprung forward from his breeches and erectly pressed into his abdomen.

Kassandra swallowed thickly, seeing milky white pre-cum leaking from the head. She vaguely remembered seeing male anatomy in a book from her family’s library and blushing with embarrassment as she rapidly slammed the book shut. She expected to perform sexual favors with a clinical execution, for she expected to be married off to a stranger. Such was the life of a noble girl in her family; your life went in service to the Maker and the Chantry, or you married the older stranger for benefits and status.

However, seeing Cullen’s naked form filled her with a bizarre sense of excitement. She began to sink down onto her knees and press shaking kisses down his abdomen, needing to do something with the anticipation overtaking her. She made herself eye-level with his cock, staring at it with wide eyes and a momentary flash of uncertainty. She planned on figuring everything out as she went, adapting to what seemed to be working.

Her attention diverted when she felt Cullen’s hand lightly wrap around the underside of her chin and throat, pushing her gaze back up to his. Cullen stared down at Kassandra, obediently on her knees for him, and he bit back a growl. The sight greatly pleased him, but he would level the dynamic. He whispered, “Lay back for me, my moon.”

Kassandra nodded quietly and leaned back, propping herself up on her elbows to watch Cullen. He seemed to admire her body cloaked in shadows and firelight simultaneously. They had stood on the skinned bear fur turned into a rug that existed in the chambers long before becoming Thane, predating him by two leaders before him. She laid in the plush fur and opened her legs without asking.

He smirked, descending to her. He kneeled while she laid, setting himself between her spread legs. One of his hands pushed her hip down to keep her steady while bringing his other hand to explore. With two fingers, he dipped below the clit of her pink, sensitive quim. He teased her entrance with looping swirls of his fingers, finding her delightfully wet. His first instinct came to taste, but he knew there would be plenty of time to experience Kassandra Trevelyan in her fullness.

“Cullen,” Kassandra stammered, catching his attention. He continued drawing circles through her slick folds and brushing against her pearl, content to observe the minor tremors racking her body or the slight jolting of her hips. She craved his touch, it seemed. She looked off to the side, “I never have-”

“Do not stress, my moon. We shall get you prepared first.” Cullen quietly assured her, understanding nervousness. He remembered his first time and how he panicked, not unlike she was. He would listen for her cues, more than the voice inside of him screaming to fuck her until she could no longer move come the dawn. He did not wish to hurt her.

“Okay-” Upon Kassandra’s expressed permission, Cullen plunged his fingers inside of her wet, throbbing heat and curled them to elicit a low whine from his Kassandra. He held her hip down, pumped his fingers in and out with reckless abandon, and his mouth returned to teasing her overstimulated nipples. The response from Kassandra drove Cullen mad with desire, hearing her cry out for the heavens to hear. He would not find himself surprised should the entire Frostback Basin catch her pleading cries of pleasure.

Kassandra felt lost in a world of bliss, only able to focus on managing her breathing as too much going on. Cullen uncovered some desires she did not realize she had through sheer luck, working her up for the inevitable outcome of him inside her. Her head spun with every swirl of his tongue or crook of his fingers inside her.

After what felt like forever, Cullen disengaged his fingers and marveled at their slickness. He cleaned off one of his fingers and pressed the other one against her lower lip. Kassandra leaned forward and sucked on his finger, tasting herself with a pool of heat darkening in her stomach. Her body felt flushed from her proximity to the heat of the fireplace, and Cullen’s gaze did not reduce the stifling tension. He grinned wolfishly and bit back a groan when feeling his cock throb in desperate desire, “I think you are ready, my moon. Tell me what you want?”

Kassandra did not need a drawn-out pause to decide whether she wished to continue or stop as the throbbing knots wound up in her stomach screamed at her to finish what she started. The arousal smothered her until she begged, “You. I want you to fuck me-”

Cullen nodded, scooping his hands underneath her thighs to bring her closer and adjusting the entry angle. He sucked in a breath as he lined his cock up, rubbing it through her folds a few times to give a little tease to Kassandra, which her whimpering suggested she thoroughly enjoyed. She writhed, and he barked out a firm, “Stay still!”

His command was obeyed from how quickly Kassandra stilled herself, and he watched her fighting against grinding up against his cock desperately. By the Mountain Father, he felt ready to devour her in his embrace and make sure she knew that she was his only.

He gave her a nod and pushed his cock deep inside her heat, managing to get hilt deep before bottoming out. Kassandra bit down on her lip to avoid screaming that she nearly drew blood. She expected some pain or discomfort if she was lucky when her virginity was claimed, but she forgot to think about how Cullen’s massive size would cause her to feel like she was splitting in two.

Her nails dug into the furs, and she tensed, refusing to cry. She was stronger than any pain and did not wish to worry Cullen. Sensing some anguish, he paused to let the pain even into nothingness and for the pleasure of the stretching to fill the void. Cullen hovered over Kassandra, pinning her arms above her head to the earth beneath them, and their eyes met.

As predicted, the pain subsided and yielded to overwhelming pleasure, where Kassandra questioned what more there could be. She flexed her hands, looking for something to grab when Cullen brought his lips crashing against hers in a tangled mess of lips, tongue, and the occasional bump of noses. They absolutely devoured the other as Cullen started thrusting.

She was so tight-

The friction and heat rising between them fogged up the room and warmed their bones to where they did not know where the outside spring night or the hearth started, and they ended. Cullen and Kassandra were lost in each other.

Their embrace was wild, erratic, and punctuated by the heady aroma of sex and sweat from the heat of the flames touching their bodies. The slapping of Cullen’s hips as he thoroughly fucked Kassandra arced off the walls, only beaten by her wild howls in a brilliant symphony of sex.

‘Cullen! I- Oh-!” Kassandra sobbed, happy tears pricking at her eyes as all the sensations bled together into one indescribable feeling. She buried her face into his shoulder as he kept thrusting until her body tumbled off the proverbial cliff of climax when Cullen hit a perfect slam of his hips to her needy rutting. Her back arched off the ground and white burst across her eyes, blinding her. She swirled among the sea of stars and let the warmth of Cullen releasing inside her lure her back down to the mortal plane.

They had become one.


	17. The Edge of Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THE FOLLOWING CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT ADULT CONTENT AND SEXUAL SITUATIONS. PLEASE PROCEED TO THE NEXT CHAPTER IF THAT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE. THANK YOU ^-^

Kassandra awoke the next morning, nakedly wrapped in the sheets and alone. The sheets stuck to her skin, likely from the leftover sweat during the night before. She and Cullen had made love until the beginnings of the morning streaked across the sky, and her body stiffened with soreness. She ached with pleasure, raptured by her overwhelming desire for Cullen. It seemed he felt similarly for how he expended all his energy on her.

They moved to the bed at some point during their marathon, and Kassandra could not recall when. Her memories were occupied with the thought of Cullen on her skin, hands mapping out her body blindly, and his earnest musings of adoration. She had never seen Cullen so tender with his affections, nor had she seen him unrestricted from his self-control that he demonstrated.

Then again, the sight of him hovering over her and his amber eyes illuminated in the fire turning into live coals of heat changed the way she saw Cullen. The barrier between alliance and romance blurred, leaving an open door for Kassandra to surrender her heart completely. She gave her life and heart to the Avvar, wanting to start over.

She was given that second chance, not willing to risk it.

She made friends and alliances with new people she considered a second, chosen family. They proved themselves willing to fight for her, and she would fight for them. But the presence of romance came unexpectedly, startlingly, breathtakingly sweeping her away. Ask her when she first arrived if she expected to not only stay but fall madly in love with the Thane who declared her his bride as promised via omen, she would have laughed in their face or pulled a dagger on them for their slanderous tongue.

Oh, how quickly the tide changed.

Kassandra sat up, pulling the sheet to her chest tightly to keep the slightly cool air from hardening her nipples. The fire extinguished at some point during the night, leaving her cold. She shivered, not keen on leaving the bed, but she needed to find Cullen. His indent in the bed remained, leaving behind a spot of faded warmth where his skin used to be. He couldn’t have gone far.

So, she got out of bed and went to find a warmer dress, pulling out something in hunter green velveteen with fur-trimmings in black. She wriggled into a pair of tights and her signature boots. Armed with her sword strapped to her back and her standard belt, Kassandra descended upon the hold.

She smiled and waved to everyone she passed by, earning awkward smiles. Unbeknownst to her, those expressions were tacit acknowledgments that the village knew. They understood Thane Rutherford and Kasandra were intimate the night prior. They overheard their voices descending the side of the mountain’s curve, accentuating the screams of Cullen’s name and the occasional moan or curse in conjunction.

While the Avvar encouraged a hearty sex life to breed children and the continuation of bloodlines, such a vociferous showing of sexual desire had not been experienced in remembered history. Either way, they guessed that outwardly mentioning their knowledge might embarrass Lady Kassandra. So, they quietly went about their business.

Kassandra arrived to find Cullen standing with Delrin and Rylen outside the arena. He wielded his sword as did Delrin, suggesting they were going to spar. Rylen excitedly exchanged jabs between them, trailing behind them as Cullen and Delrin descended into the arena. Rylen would challenge the winner, starting the trash talking.

Kassandra walked to the nearest ledge, content to watch Cullen spar and wait for him to return. They should speak as soon as possible, sorting out where they stood. She would argue that their bodies did all the speaking for them last night, but a communicated confirmation should settle her nerves.

Too much had been taken from her in these last few years for her to trust anything at face value anymore.

As she waited, she heard footsteps approach and step beside her. She glanced to her side, seeing Persephone and Quari flanking her. The two gave their respectful nods, greeting her without intended disruption. The clang of swords diverted their attention into the arena where Delrin and Cullen were rushing at each other. 

“Do you have any witherstalk, Persephone?” Kassandra inquired, not glancing up from the battle within the arena. The mood greatly shifted among the Lions since dealing with Embrium Dragon Hold, and the need for continual strength encouraged a new movement of warriors to rise and train. Cullen was pleased with that outcome, intending to train those willing to pick up a sword or an axe. She heard Persephone hum in acknowledgment from beside her, “I was itching for some tea and thought about making it.”

Persephone nodded, exchanging a look with Quari. Witherstalk hmm? An interesting choice, “I should have some lying around. Come with me to check?”

“Of course.”

They could not avoid the conversation forever, even when they busied themselves with other activities and errands needing to be finished around the hold. Kassandra did not consider that she was avoiding Cullen Rather, she needed a moment to compose her thoughts. She wished to state her intentions without misunderstanding, express herself with honesty, and not in an ingenuine manner befitting of political talk. She believed that Cullen deserved the truth.

The truth is that she did not regret what transpired between the two of them, nor did she wish for it to be a random, unrepeated occurrence.

It all sounded so simple to say, yet Kassandra knew that when she wanted the words to come out, they would become all jumbled and impossible to explain. Never in her life had she felt so speechless, incoherently so.

So, when the sky turned dark, and the hold turned in for the night, Kassandra walked back to the throne room and stumbled onto Cullen standing there with a small wooden bowl and blue-paint coated fingers. He appeared somewhat surprised that she returned so early to their personal chambers.

“Kassandra.” He greeted.

“Cullen,” She replied, glancing at the bowl in his hand. “What is that, my Thane?”

Cullen followed her finger to the paint in his hand, gesturing to his markings. He looked to her but glanced more behind her at the open door. He hoped that everyone returned to their homes or posts for the evening, thereby leaving them not at risk for an accidental intrusion. He would hate to share this moment beyond himself and Kassandra, “It is for a ritual. All Avvar, when reaching their prime, receive their first painted tattoos. The dye is blessed with an enchantment for the first layer, making them permanent.”

“Their prime?” Kassandra tilted her head, walking closer to him. She tucked her hands together in the sleeves, “Have I become eligible for that?”

“You qualified long ago, but it had slipped my mind,” Cullen admitted, being honest about it. Kassandra proved her fitness to proudly bear the markings. They would never wash away once laid onto her skin, becoming her identity so clearly stated. 

Kassandra hummed, “Fair considering the trials we have faced, do you think?”

“I do,” Cullen agreed, beckoning out to her with his hand. “But I choose to rectify that. Come, let me finalize your status in the eyes of the Gods as one of us.”

Kassandra obediently approached him, reaching behind her back to loosen the buttons holding her dress. Cullen watched it gently pull away, bending off her body and revealing skin. She grasped that she needed to be undressed for him to properly lay on the tattoos.

Soon, she shoved her dress to a puddle on the ground and stepped out of it. She wriggled out of her boots and tights, slowly peeling them from her skin. When she reached Cullen, she was completely naked. She curled her hair around her hand and lifted it from her face.

Cullen brought her toward the throne and sat down on the throne, dipping his fingers into the paint to lay onto her skin. Kassandra held her breath when Cullen pressed his fingertips to her skin, drawing down from her under her left breast and crossed through to her right hip. She licked her lips, watching Cullen’s concentrated examination of her exposed skin. “We need to talk, specifically about last night.”

“Yes, we do,” Cullen said, going to apply more stripes. He drew three “claw marks” across her throat, a defined signature marker. He created blue swirls winding down her biceps, her outer thighs, and back to culminate in a masterpiece of his making. “I knew that we would discuss this, but I must ask: last night was not a heat of the moment decision, was it? You do not regret it?”

“Cullen, of course not! Why would I regret it? Furthermore, why would I give something so personally valuable as my virtue away if I did not trust the person I gave it to. Cullen, I trust you, and I love you. I hope that I did not give you an impression otherwise.” Kassandra declared, somewhat aghast and a little hurt. It clearly showed in how Cullen’s expression softened.

“Apologies, my moon,” Cullen swiftly took her hands in his, seeing as the paint on his fingers dry. The mixture’s properties made application a quick, painless process and efficient for time constraints. Kassandra, looking down, still accepted his hand. Cullen nudged her to meet his eyes, and when she did, she found nothing short of sincerity. “I have heard a great deal about nobility and their rumored delight in indulging frivolous affairs on a whim. I did not wish to offend you or insinuate that you were using me as a passing fancy. I was wrong and foolish. Forgive me.”

Still frowning, Kassandra gave a little huff. She did not blame him for his hesitation, knowing the penchant of nobility to do exactly as he described. She would make the best of a misunderstanding. So, she scoffed lightly, “I am not Orlesian. I would never.”

That seemed to have the intended effect of lightening the moon, eliciting laughter out of Cullen. More laughter came from Kassandra too, and the two shared a meaningful moment. With mild hesitation, Kassandra saddled her way onto Cullen’s lap.

His face rested between her hands, patiently observing her moves. Kassandra slowly set the bowl down on the throne's arm for Cullen to retrieve when she finished. There was nowhere else to put it with her straddling his lap.

“I make you a promise, here and now. I am with you, and I want to be with you for however long the Gods will let us be together. I do not pretend to understand what divine purpose or plan guides us anymore like I did when Andrastian, but I do have faith that we have overcome great obstacles to withstand in a union.” Kassandra whispered, wanting Cullen to know where she stood.

“If you might indulge me with another question, my moon?” Cullen asked, earning a nod from Kassandra. She rested their foreheads together, shivering lightly when Cullen traced her spine with his paint-stained fingers needing to be washed. He should be adding any final touches, but he felt this could wait, “Why did you fall in love with me, or rather when?”

“I will admit, I think I only realized it for what it was last night. I have been in love once, maybe. It was the kind between children who do not know better or much of anything about the world. The kind of love that marks the innocence of children before they understand the complexities of the cruel yet beautiful world in which we live,” Kassandra remarked, stroking Cullen’s cheek. She offered a weary smile. “But I can trace the origins of my descent into unstoppable love for you from the day you saved me during Snowfallson’s attack.”

Cullen looked her up and down. For that long, she had loved him? Yet, he believed she thought him a monster, a brute, a beast she could never love? How foolish of him to lose sight of what laid right in front of him. He should have seen it through her tender care of him when he fell ill or how she assumed the leadership she did not ask for without a second thought. A selfless, near unfathomable kind of love she held in her heart.

He was blessed to have her.

Cullen tilted his face inward, brushing their lips together hesitantly. He needed not be afraid of rejection from Kassandra, for she leaned into him and pulled his lower lip between her teeth hungrily. Taking cues, Cullen immediately laced his next kiss with searing passion.

While Kassandra knotted her fingers into his hair, Cullen dipped his hands into the paint and teasingly fondled her breasts under warm, calloused palms. A sharp hitch in Kassandra’s breath elicited a wolfish smile out of Cullen, who pulled his hands back and looked to reveal the forever marked imprint of his hands decorating her breasts.

He tilted his mouth to brush against her ear, nipping playfully at the lobe, “Are you mine, Kassandra?”

“I am! I am yours, my Thane.” Kassandra moaned, rocking her hips. Cullen was still dressed in his furs while she was stark naked, feeling completely unfair of him to tease her so. Her pleading did not go unnoticed by Cullen, who found the whimpers and enthusiastic begging like music to his ears.

“Do you want me to fuck you, my moon?” He questioned but knew the answer before he even asked her. The fire in her eyes screamed ‘yes.’ Kassandra let out a strangled moan, creating friction between them with the increased rock of her hips. When Cullen gave her behind a careful, measured swat, she nearly came tumbling apart.

“Yes! Cullen, please fuck me! I beg to the Gods-”

Her permission came swift and unrelenting, giving Cullen a free pass to have his way with his beautiful lover. His Chosen.

Cullen maneuvered Kassandra around, so her back pressed into the throne and slumped slightly, watching Cullen kneel before her. With strong hands, he parted open her legs and stared at the soft pink folds exposed to him. He heard Kassandra whimper, biting her lip in anticipation. She could not prepare for the wanton cry falling out when Cullen pressed the hot pad of his tongue up against her heat, causing her thighs to involuntarily clench.

Kassandra clapped her hand over her mouth, stifling the noises. Cullen buried his face between her legs, earning Kassandra’s free hand curling into his hair. She scrunched her eyes closed and mumbled softly, unable to stop the flush of arousal from taking over her body. Every kiss and stroke of his tongue from Cullen felt dripping with undenied desperation. He worshiped her body like a sinner begging for mercy at the holiest alter, touched only by his hands.

“Tell me,” Cullen whispered, running his hands up her thighs. He gripped at her flesh, invoking soft and needy moans from Kassandra. Her sharp inhale and eyes screwed shut gave the impression that she was a little distracted, but her fervent nod told Cullen that she was listening. He leaned forward and pressed slightly sloppy kisses up to the juncture of her bare hip. “Will you marry me? Are you ready to be my wife, my equal in ruling?”

“Yes! Cullen, I am ready!” Kassandra gasped, eyes flying open. She rolled her hands down from his hair to brush against his cheeks and the stubble scratching against her hands. Her touched warmed Cullen, but her declared readiness brought him surging forward. He noticed how reckless he had become with the paint, but his wandering hands created a mosaic of blue swirling across her body in a pattern unique to Kassandra.

Perhaps the orthodoxy fit her better than a traditional approach would.

“Then, we shall be married at once!” Cullen declared, rising, and pulling her into his arms. Kassandra lithely molded into his shape, wrapped her legs around his waist, and laughed brightly as he carried her toward their chambers.


	18. Hymn of the Warrior

As promised when Kassandra agreed, the hold learned of the joyous news that the Thane and his Chosen planned to be wed at once. The union was a celebration not only for the couple intending to wed but the community they lived among. The collective happiness cast warmth over the Lions for the week leading up to the wedding, set for the night of the full moons.

Weddings were no exceptions to the bevy of traditions Avvar culture, and those would need to be done at once. Hesitating or delaying rituals allegedly could incur bad luck or disapproval from the Gods. Therefore, Kassandra and Cullen were urged by those around them to complete their rituals.

Cullen, accompanied by Delrin and Rylen, embarked on the traditions of the bridegroom with minor fuss. He considered himself lucky to do familiar activities like a hunt and sacrifice with the augur, to appease the Gods with an offering bested by his hands. He did a sanctioned prayer, normally conducted with the Thane, but his status as the Thane saw him embarking on a test of faith alone. The night before, he went to the springs and cleansed his body before painting extra markings onto his skin.

Then, Kassandra found herself busy with rituals focused on cleansing her mind and body for the big day. Hers, beyond the most important wedding event, were oddly pampering to her. She did several cleanses with special herbs, a meditation session to connect her to her innermost desires, and a fertility ritual.

However, Kassandra discovered a surprise when some of the ladies of the hold coaxed her from bed one evening and brought her to the infirmary. There, Cybele and Quari stood waiting with a piece of braided rope stemming from their hands.

“What is this?” Kassandra questioned, genuinely curious when she noticed the yards of rope curled around their arms and cascading down to the floor. The rope looked worn, tested by time. Somehow, Kassandra could see a thousand stories etched into the fibers that were carried by steady hands.

“This is the final tradition you will learn for the ceremony. The unknotting,” Cybele stated in that whispery tone of hers and nodded to Kassandra, beckoning her closer. She stepped into the infirmary, staring at the rope in great interest. Quari gestured for her hands, so she held them out for Quari to lay a length of rope across her flat palms. “In our culture, our martial agreements are arranged in years. Avvar marriages are not intended to be life-long obligations for some as we believe there is a season for all things. To establish the length of the marriage, there is the ceremony with this rope. The bride sings a hymn of her choice, long or short, while the bridegroom works to untangle the braids made in this rope. Each braid symbolizes a year. The number of braids undone by the end of the hymn corresponds to the years the marriage will last between the bride and bridegroom unless other circumstances occur. When the number of years is over, the marriage is dissolved, and the two may pursue other partners.”

“That is not what I expected,” Kassandra admitted, running her hands against the underside of the rope. “But I think that sounds lovely. A testament to the distinctiveness of Avvar life and the idea that nothing is permanent, not even our bodies, for we all return to the earth one day.”

“Indeed. You are wise, my lady.” Quari complimented, eliciting a smile from Kassandra. With all eyes on her, she realized that she would need to select a hymn to perform during the unbraiding ceremony. Her choice revolved around how long she wanted the marriage between her and Cullen to last. Call it the former lowlander in her, but she did not wish to marry anyone beyond Cullen. There might be a boy across the sea and in her past who she considered a love of hers, but Cullen existed as the love of her life.

She chewed her lip, “Do we have a book of hymns? I would like to find a new one since all the hymns I have memorized are Andrastian in nature. I doubt that will be good for the ceremony.”

“We should!” Cybele turned to the shelf of tomes, and Persephone searched the shelf, pulling a title and dusting it off. She handed it to Kassandra, encouraging a “Thank you, Persephone!”

Kassandra pushed open the hymn book, skipping past those she already read, and dove deeper into the pages, scanning for anything lengthy. Her attention caught toward the end, landing on a hymn that occupied several yellowed pages in moderately small handwriting.

Eyes twinkled as she studied the _Story of Tyrdda Bright-Axe_ with around eight stanzas, knowing she memorized entire Canticles from the Chant of Light to sing in Chantry ceremonies as a child longer than the eulogizing tale of the Avvar-Mother. She could handle this, giving Cullen enough time to unknot enough knots to last them a lifetime. She did not know whether collusion was allowed between a bride and her husband-to-be, so she would avoid it.

So, she would learn her hymn and hope Cullen’s intentions aligned with hers.

* * *

Moonrise blanketed the forest in an ethereal silver glow, proudly beaming down from the starlight tapestry skies. The double moon night came once every age, thereby marking the occasion as a special event for the hold. All members of the hold, children to elders, gathered in a semi-circle ring around their Thane.

Cullen stood, basked in the light of the torches held in key points of the ring, and dressed in his furs. The blue of the painted tattoos glowed like lyrium veins against his skin and contrasted his natural pallor. Although he intended to portray a fierce image while wearing his skinned bear hooded cape and his favorite furs for the warm evening, his eyes betrayed the stern aura he tried to project with the unbridled anticipation lightening the haunted shadows living in amber. He awaited his blushing bride to consummate the love they reaffirmed in the sharing of their skin as well as their souls.

He expected to be awestruck by her appearance, knowing that she mildly deviated from tradition with her attire. She came to him the morning after they decided to commence with their wedding with a request: she could wear a white dress. Cullen, unwilling to refuse his bride her only wish, agreed to the white dress. Kassandra worked with her confidants in Quari and Persephone to assemble a gown befitting of a Thane’s wife and a warrior of the clan without losing her sense of grace.

The crunch of softened earth from the darkness ahead captivated the attention of all those, including Cullen. He wrung his hands together as Kassandra emerged from the shadows of the trees as a vision in white. The fabric of the dress hung loosely around, rippling in the warm breeze of the night. She cut off some lace detailing from an old nightgown that no longer fit her matured body and preserved some of her modesty, desiring that her naked form belongs to Cullen’s eyes alone.

Atop her head, a gorgeous assortment of wildflowers woven into a crown complimented her dark, flowing waves and was the same shade of pink like her cheeks. She looked almost virginal, which would have made her parents smile proudly on her day. She hoped that they understood her choice to stay an Avvar, to find happiness again somewhere unexpected and new. If they truly loved her, she knew they would.

Kassandra approached the semi-circle of smiling faces, unable to fight away her glow. She reached Cullen, holding out her hands for his to take. He pulled her closer, and Cybele emerged from the crowd, wearing the ceremonial gear of her augur duties. She would conduct the ceremony in Cullen’s stead.

“Blessed eve to all here at moonrise, witnesses to the union between Thane Rutherford of Skyhold and his Chosen Kassandra Divina Ariella Trevelyan. We thank our deities' wisdom to deliver us onto this moment of celebration as kin and Lions in blood. We shall begin with the prayer recited between the couple to the Gods.”

Cybele clamped her hands over Cullen and Kassandra’s, cementing herself as the conduit between them and the heavens. She closed her eyes, rolling her head back, and waited for Kassandra and Cullen to do their part. The spectators hung their heads, reconnecting to the earth beneath their feet and the powerful presence of nature all around them. Cullen and Kassandra made eye contact as they recited the prayer in tandem, “To the Gods, we owe our gratitude. Your benevolence and favor lead us warriors through the coldest of winters and the most barren of seasons. Your blessing guides us to live another day, fight a battle with our hearts, and care for our people how you have cared for us. Your grace is abundant and well-received.”

“Excellent,” Cybele dropped her hands to the sides, and those surrounding them lifted their heads up, signaling the end of the prayer, “Then we may move onto the last trial to complete to sanctify your union: the unknotting. Bring the braid!” Cybele announced, and Delrin and Rylen stepped forward, carrying the yards of braid. They handed the loose end to Cullen while Kassandra held the end knot.

Her eyes widened when taking in the nearly one hundred and fifty knots braided into the rope, one dedicated to the years that Lion Claw Hold existed in its current iteration. Lion Claw emerged from prior clans that merged in the bonds of kin, not unlike a marriage. She gripped her end tight, sucking in a breath as she prepared to belt her lungs out. Cybele nodded to her, “Whenever you are ready, my lady-”

“Tell the tale of Tyrdda Bright-Axe, mountain maker, spirit's bride: free, her people, forged in fastness, made in mountains, hardy hide…” Kassandra started to sing, sending Cullen on a frenzied quest to untangle the knots in the braid. His fingers moved deftly through the braid, cutting through even the most stubborn knots.

While he struck the crowd with his dedication, Kassandra kept the melody as slow as she could without arousing suspicion. She watched Cullen’s attempts to undo the braid pan out successfully as she jaunted through the eight stanzas about Tyrdda Bright-Axe, Avvar-Mother, and she reached the climax, “Skyward, one last trek she made to her lover, dream-delivered. Raven-feathered, reunited, hearts both whole, now neither aching.” 

Kassandra’s angelic voice echoed off the edge of the forest as her final note faded, and Cullen dropped his hands away from the braid, breathing heavily. A simple glance at the braid would determine Cullen managed to get through over half or seventy-five knots.

Cybele reached down and picked up the braid, counting the number leftover silently. Those spectating were sure to count along, curiosity gnawing away at them. Eventually, Cybele glanced between Cullen and Kassandra with a serene smile, declaring, “The union between Thane Rutherford and Lady Kassandra shall be blessed with eighty-six years of matrimony!”

Kassandra gasped, throwing her arms around Cullen. The Lions whooped and celebrated at the prospect of a lifetime between their Thane and the woman he loved. Truly, the Gods blessed and facilitated their union in the plans of the Lady of the Skies.

Cullen lifted Kassandra’s chin and swept her lips into a kiss, overwhelmed by his adoration for his wife. Gods, what a lovely thing to hear— _his wife._ As the two shared a moment of great intimacy, their witnesses sprinted off toward the feast awaiting them. Another celebration that would last until the first glimpses of the morning light shone upon them.

“I cannot wait until we retire to our chambers, my moon,” Cullen whispered to her when they were the last two remaining in the clearing, partners for life. He laced their fingers together, softly gazing upon Kassandra. He nudged her, and they stepped closer to the trees standing between them and the honorary feast about to kick off. “That dress of yours shall adorn itself on my floor, having served its purpose.”

“Luckily for us, this is our wedding,” Kassandra remarked, her back pressing against the tree with a soft gasp, and she grabbed Cullen’s hand. She pressed it against her naval and let him inch down slowly until- he grasped the underside of her thigh, lifted it up, and slotted his hips between her legs with a smirk.

She was right. The night was theirs to do as they pleased.

* * *

Hours later, Kassandra’s eyes heavily pushed open against the content warmth enveloping her. She assumed that the furs, the roaring fire, or even her husband’s body heat provided the source of warmth, leaving her wondering what possibly disturbed her sleep.

She needed the rest after the hearty lovemaking she and Cullen engaged in, as he promised and previewed during the feast.

However, Cullen’s arms missing from around her alerted her that he either rolled away from her or left the bed. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, blearily blinking. Any sense of lingering disorientation from a touch of sleep snapped when she overheard the low moans of Cullen beside her.

She knew those moans as the same ones plaguing the nightmares she warded off during his recovery from the Embrium Dragon attack: pain.

She frantically sat up after rolling onto her back. She turned to her right, taking in the sight of Cullen shivering and curled into the bunched furs. His panic spurred her action, getting her to pull Cullen into her arms, “Cullen, wake up… my love, it is only a dream. Wake up.”

Her firm whispers snapped him out of his haze, causing him to go still. Slowly but surely, he crawled from his nightmarish slumber and back to the waking world where the arms of his lover awaited him. He blinked his eyes, rubbing at them. Kassandra stayed and waited for him to speak, “Kassandra?”

“Cullen, you were having a nightmare,” Kassandra said, her voice softly caressing his fearful expression until he slouched back in shame. He turned his gaze away, refusing to look Kassandra in the eyes. She sighed, “Do you wish to talk about it? I can help you if you let me in.”

Cullen sat himself up, mulling over Kassandra’s offer. He could not deny that the thought of laying down his burden feared him with slight fear. However, he carried the secret on his heart for years, and Kassandra was his wife. She put herself in the line of danger for him, meaning he could trust her with his life. Besides, she was kind of stuck with him.

“Very well.”

“I am here to listen, without judgment, my love,” Kassandra whispered, taking his hand in hers. She offered him a small smile, and Cullen felt his lips tug at the corners.

“As I mentioned before, I was not born as an Avvar. I was adopted into the clan around I was sixteen. I am a Fereldan boy—born and raised. I grew up in Honnleath, but I do not expect many to know where that is. My life changed forever when I left home and joined the Templar Order, finally receiving my wish since I was a young boy. I thought I would help people and be a hero.” Cullen explained, eyes misty when describing his home.

“You were a Templar?” Kassandra gasped, never imagining that her husband would be a man of the Order. But now that she thought about it, she could see the militaristic training buried in his mannerisms, and those would likely never fade.”

Cullen nodded, “I was. I considered myself a dedicated recruit, and it seemed that my superiors took notice of my eagerness to serve. I did not think too much about the implications of their interest in me, too blinded by my ambition to be someone and seeing my dream come to life. Some Templar Knights uncovered a thiag of lyrium, but it was different. Lyrium, normally soft blue, gives Templars their powers to combat magic. But this lyrium was different, angry and red and sang songs of bloodlust.”

“By the Gods,” Kassandra felt oddly sickened, fearing that she knew where Cullen’s tale would go but begging her fears to be figments of an overactive imagination. She could not bear to think of such horrible things—crimes even—against an innocent child. “Cullen, you did not-”

“-I took the lyrium at the behest of my superiors. They wished to see the effects of lyrium, and their Chantry handlers demanded that they see the impact on the bodies of the young and strong. The lyrium was like poison to my body, causing a war. I hallucinated, fell violently ill, and I believed that I would die. I laid on the brink of death, afraid I would walk to the Maker’s side without seeing my family one last time.”

Kassandra screwed her eyes shut, swallowing, “What happened next?”

“They abandoned me in the Basin, expecting that I would die,” Cullen felt Kassandra tense, daring to look in her eyes and witness the blaze of anger. Her eyes welled with hot tears, but she appeared prepared to grab the nearest sword and off the ghosts of his past. Cullen gave her a look. “As you see, I did not die that day. I was discovered face down in the snow by Thane Erabon Mountainstone, Thane of Lion Claw Hold, who rescued me. He raised me and lifted me during my crisis of faith against the Maker, inducting me into the clan. He became a second father to me, and I was barely twenty-one years old when he died. As Mountainstone had no sired children left and his third marriage dissolved ages before, I was nominated for the Thaneship and proved my might in a challenge of strength: fighting the hold beast. I have led the Lions for nearly a decade since.”

“Oh, Cullen,” Kassandra gasped out, pressing a comforting kiss to his forehead and cleaned off the beads of sweat from him. Cullen closed his eyes, sighing as she peppered him with kisses. Her touch was like a benediction, forgiveness for a crime he did not commit yet still felt guilty of. “I am so sorry that happened to you.”

“Do not fret, my moon. I am fighting a battle that I believe I will win.” Cullen assured her, taking her face between his hands. He knew that he could get through the ghosts of his past with a loving, empathetic woman by his side. She would take care of him when he struggled to take care of himself.

Kassandra sighed understandingly, and she tugged him back down, lying on their sides and facing each other. She let out a smile, “Come, let us return to bed.”


End file.
